


The Promised Land

by drivingsideways



Series: The Promised Land [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels (Supernatural) - Freeform, Fallen Angels, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Season/Series 08 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drivingsideways/pseuds/drivingsideways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of 8.23, Castiel finds that his journey takes him on a new path. Will who-and what-he finds along the way lead him to journey's end?  This fic explores a possible universe where Castiel sets out on a quest to find the Fallen Angels and reclaim his home.</p><p>ETA: 3rd October : Ok, so I failed miserably at a schedule. Next update most likely mid-November given the state of my RL schedule until then. Thanks for reading, lurking, commenting!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Israfel

**Author's Note:**

> The angel names used in this fic are partly just lifted off Wiki and partly just Biblical names I like. There's no resemblance between the mythology of these angels and the characters as they are in the fic.  
> Also, I feel I should apologize at the start if I don't get the dialects and "authenticity" of the geographical regions in which these chapters take place. I've never even visited the States, so if they all sound like some version of the places in your average Hollywood film- yeah, well, they are. :/

It’s been a while.   
  
18 months, 6 days and 5 hours, to be precise.   
  
Well, depending on which time zone.   
It is hard to be precise about anything, the way humans measure time.   
He’s been out here for three hours, preparing, waiting.   
  
He’s quite proud of the little fire he’s managed to get going. He imagines Dean would criticize it _you call that a fire, Cas?_ but there’d be no real venom in it. Castiel doesn’t  want to imagine his voice now though, because with it would come the tug, the urge to _stop with the crazy Cas, you gonna get yourself killed again?_   
The sky turns to fire above him for a few minutes, and Castiel turns his face up to it.   
  
The first stars are already out when the soft splash-splash in the water tells him that his wait is nearly over.  The woman who leaps out of the boat and pulls it in is tall, very tall. In the deepening dusk, Castiel cannot make out much more, but he had caught a glimpse of her two days ago,   
in a supply store. He’d been too far away to hear more than the faint rumble of her voice but he knew now that she had dark brown hair, worn curling at the edges of her neck; the sleeves she wore rolled up revealing skin weathered by long hours outdoors.   
  
He supposed he could have attempted contact then.   
  
Instead, he had wandered around the small town, aimless, not particularly thinking of anything- in fact deliberately not thinking  
of anything, waiting for- what? a sign?   
  
_Tell me what I should do._  
  
 _Give me a sign._   
  
Well, his sign is walking toward him right now.   
  
“You call that a fire?” she says, and in the flickering light, her dark eyes glitter.   
  
It’s an arresting face, rather than beautiful. It suits her, Castiel thinks, _remembering_.   
  
“I’m not very good at this” he acknowledges.   
  
“No, you aren’t”.   
  
Castiel shrugs, and then sits down, cross legged.   
  
“Did you catch something?”  
  
“You hungry?”  
  
“I could eat..” he admits, rueful.   
  
Castiel watches as the woman cleans and bones the fish, her  movements quick and sufficient.   
  
He doesn’t break the silence.   
  
“Took you two days”   
“Yes”  
“Scared?”  
Castiel exhales, looks away.   
  
“Something like that.”  
  
There’s tension in the silence now, and not for the first time, Castiel wishes he had a way with words.   
  
_Ain’t I taught you nothin’ Cas.._  
  
“I want you to join me in reclaiming our home”

Israfel pauses.   
  
“You’ve got some nerve”, she says, and if it had been said with more anger, it would have cut less.   
  
“I’m trying..” he starts, and then stops.   
  
Starts again “I need..”  
  
But the look in Israfel’s eyes makes the rest of the words- which words, he doesn’t even know- disappear down his throat where they lodge in his chest, making it difficult to _breathe_.   
Language is _useless_ , he thinks, not for the first time.

  
Israfel is still staring at him, and all he can do, he realizes, is meet her gaze.

  
Finally, after what may be an aeon, but what is, actually, Castiel knows, 58 seconds, Israfel asks   
  
“You got a plan?”


	2. Nathaniel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Israfel meet one of their siblings; there's pizza and uncomfortable questions.

Israfel knows where Nathaniel is.

 

“How did you find him?”, he asks.

 

“How did you find me?” She counters.

 

In reply he pulls out a leather bound book and hands it to her. 

There are clippings from newspapers- some really _strange_ publications- print outs from articles taken off the web, and notes scrawled in the margin. The print outs and clippings are almost all from the three week span after _that day_ , but there are some more recent ones too; records of church lootings, museum robberies, crypt robberies, grave desecrations,  men who received sight, and children who began to walk.  The notes are in a neat handwriting, the letters precise, mostly in ink, but sometimes in pencil.

“These yours?”

“Mostly..Sam helped too”

Israfel says nothing.

 

She pauses at a page.

The picture on it is a sight _familiar_ to her, the way she has schooled herself to think of her arm. If you fake it, you can make it.

The article is about a species of bird that had suddenly made its appearance all across the Newfoundland coast.

_Scientists are trying to make sense of it all, but residents here are just overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the birds, with their indigo-grey colouring,  as well as their musical calls, which, according to one resident this correspondent spoke to, must surely be heavensong._

 

In the two inch margin of page beneath the article, is a single word:  “Israfel”.

 

“So you..”

“..had a friend who performed some provably illegal activities to help me narrow down both the area of occurrence and the number of people who have come into this town since then”

He smiles then, and it’s quite unlike anything she would have ever expected of his smile- it’s wide, and makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. “She’s quite something, my friend”, he says, and continues, without a pause, “but I knew the moment I read the article. After that it was just a matter of elimination.”

She wants to ask _how,_ but feels her voice choke up, when he says “You always sang the sweetest”.

 

Nathaniel works working as a janitor in at a small hospital two towns away.

“It was an accident”, says Israfel, “I cut up my leg one day, sheer carelessness, and got laid up for a week. He came to clean my room on his routine shift. I..well, at that time, I could still sense it, y’know. Sense US. So could he. We stayed in touch. We go fishing sometimes.”

 

Castiel nods, maneuvering his chopsticks around a particularly recalcitrant piece of chicken.

 

“That’s how you knew it was me, though, right? At the supply store. You can still _see_.”

 

Castiel doesn’t look up from where he’s playing with his food.

 

“I..I guess it works at a different pace for each of us.”

 

When she doesn’t answer, he looks up, only to see her face grown thoughtful.

 

“I wouldn’t advertise the fact, though”, she says “Not yet, at any rate”

 

When he looks at her in confusion, she shrugs. “Did it not occur to you, that there are some who may be..resentful of that?”

 

He flushes under her gaze, but nods.

 

They finish the rest of their meal in silence.

 

 

She drives a navy Camry that has seen better days.

“You took a train, and then two buses?” she says disbelieving.

He shrugs.

“I don’t really..like driving.”

“But you know how to?”

 _That’s the brake Cas, not the accelerator, for fucks sake, I can’t believe you can do partial differential equations in your head, but you can’t figure this shit_.

“I could..in an emergency.”

He doesn’t need to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes at him.

It’s an expression he is familiar with.

 

“That’s him” and then, “Stay here”.

 

Castiel watches her approach him, and Nathaniel responds to her greeting with a smile and wave. They confer, and Israfel gestures toward the car, and soon, _too soon_ , they are approaching.

 

He twists around in his seat, as Nathaniel settles himself in the back.

“Hello” he says, as Israfel says “This is..”

“Castiel”, finishes Nathaniel, and Castiel should get used to this- the look on their face when they realize it’s _him_.

“Hello,” he repeats, and thinks, _I am such a fool_.

Israfel glances between them and says, “I think this will go better with pizza”.

 

Israfel and Nathaniel keep up the small talk while they wait for their order. Nathaniel seems content to ignore him, so Castiel keeps quiet and studies the diner instead. He’s familiar with diners all over the States now, especially the Midwest, but he has to admit, this one is practically _charming_. Also, their waitress had smiled the most genuine smile he’d seen in days, and called him “sweetie”.  It isn’t very crowded- a family of four sits two tables away, the mother trying desperately to retain some control over her rambunctious twins, while the father studies the menu.  He takes an inordinate time over it, which is strange, Castiel thinks. There are only ten items on it.  There’s a couple in a corner booth, sharing a milkshake and giggling over it, as teenage girls, Castiel has discovered, are wont to do.

 

When the pizza arrives, Castiel carves neat, small slices, looking up to find both Israfel and Nathaniel staring at him.

“Something wrong?”

“Nope”

“No”

Castiel continues carving up his pizza.

“She used to do that, y’know”, Nathaniel says, his voice casual.

Castiel looks at him, feels his appetite draining away.

“Who?” asks Israfel.

Nathaniel takes a bite, looking straight at Castiel,.

“Naomi”

“Who’s Naomi?” Israfel asks, confused.

“My boss- ex boss, I guess. She’s dead too, thanks to Mr. Baby Blues here.”

“I didn’t..”

“Kill her?”

Castiel says nothing, looks back down at his pizza. The tomato sauce is so _red_.

“Semantics”

 _But what about what she did to me, to all of us_ , he wants to scream, _what about what you did?_

“So, what, you’re gonna organize a break in? Or march up to the Gates and demand that the Lord of Mordor show himself?”

Castiel frowns.

“What? I’ve been catching up on my reading..”

“High literature, indeed” murmurs Israfel.

“So, is that the plan?”

“Something like that”

Nathaniel laughs. He laughs so loudly that the buzz in the diner dies down while all eyes are drawn to their table.

Israfel calmly picks up a slice of her pizza and bites into it.

When he’s finished wiping his tears, Nathaniel says to her, “I cannot believe you’re signing up for this..this ridiculous non-plan”.

She shrugs.

“You in?”

Nathaniel sobers up.

“No.”

“Why not?” asks Castiel.

He shakes his head, looks away, toward the door, then looks back.

“You really think you can change it, build a new world..the whole shebang..don’t you?”

“I think I can try”

Nathaniel chuckles.

“There’s nothing more dangerous in all the realms than an idealist who has nothing to lose.”

“My own”, he adds, at Israfel’s slightly sardonic look.

“It doesn’t work like that, Castiel” he says, and his tone is earnest now, pleading almost.

“You think you’d have saved it, but then, in due course, a thousand years, ten thousand years..you’ll see. It will all come around to the same thing. The pettiness, the power grabbing, the cruelty, the greed. It will, and the worst part? _You’ll be there to see it_.”

 

Castiel thinks, if I were a better-I’d know what to say. How to give him _hope_.

 

Instead he says, “Perhaps. But I want to try.”

 

Nathaniel exhales.

 

“I don’t want to go back. “

 

He’s silent for a few minutes before he continues.

 

“Here..here I live a small life, a mortal one, it’s true. Everything about it is temporal, is so random, so _brief_. But everyday I make new memories, and those memories are true, and not filled with lies and deceit and blood- and I know I will carry them with me to my grave. It’s a small thing, perhaps, compared with the eternal glory of our home, but  I think, if there’s still a God, a Power out there dispensing forgiveness in teaspoons, then, then..I think it will forgive me this.”

 

 

As they get back in the car after saying their goodbyes, Israfel says, “There will be others”. 

Castiel nods, buckles in.

 

The drive back seems longer.


	3. Malachi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Israfel plays bad cop- really badly; and Castiel really really hates driving.

_A team of researchers  investigating a large scale outbreak of algae bloom in the Apple River Sloughs area of the St. Croix National Scenic River Highway, Wisconsin. U.S.A that started in the summer of 2013, now confirm that the outbreak was caused by a new species of freshwater cyanobacteria. There are forty known species of freshwater toxic cyanobacteria, around five of which are common to the Great Lakes Area. Dr Vanitha Reddy-Myers, who headed the research team confirmed that the new species Microcystis stella mortem- literally translated “Death Star” and so named because of it’s star shape and extreme toxicity to humans in particular-had so far not made an appearance in any other part of the world. “Well, as far as we know,” he said, “There are still things that surprise every day”. The algae bloom in the Apple River Sloughs Area first drew attention when a tourist who went for a swim in the river had to be rescued  when his skin started burning and peeling off within minutes of coming in contact with the algae. Microcystis stella mortem ,while producing enough toxins that make it fatal for humans to come in contact with, seems to have little or no effect on the other inhabitants-plant or animal- of  the river._

_\- from the New Scientist, March 2014_

 

 

_Local flavour was added to the excitement caused by the worldwide meteor shower, when campers near the  Riverside Landing reported witnessing two meteor crashes within minutes of each other.  Mary West, who was along with friends on a three night trip, said “ We were just sitting there, goofing around the fire, y’know, and then Doug, one of my friends, he was like “What is that?” and that’s when we saw this..ball of fire..and it was just..hurtling toward us, so, y’know, we were sort of frozen for the first minute and then, god, it was so scary, we thought it was going to hit us..so we just ran toward the forest….I think I was screaming…gosh, I don’t know, but then it hit the river, and wow, I mean, like this huge splash that..I guess the wave it caused drenched us all y’know? But then there was this silence..I swear EVERYTHING was quiet, the insects, the birds for a few minutes. We tried calling 911 on the cell, but I guess our cells were fried or something, there wasn’t any signal, so we just..well, we debated whether we should head out immediately, or wait until the morning..and well, I guess, we decided to wait. It wasn’t like the boat that we needed was still around…I guess the wave had set it loose or something. And then there was another one, well, we could see it in the sky, but I guess it landed further upstream.”_

_The second meteor, did in fact, land further upstream, again, coincidentally near a camping site, where the Wiggins family reported almost the same sequence of events as Mary West and her friends. Teegan, 4, also added that later he saw a man walking out of the river, but Shirley Wiggins, his mother said that none of the others had, and laughed it off with a “Children, I swear you shouldn’t let them watch TV..”_

_from The New Richmond News dtd 18th May 2013_

 

 

“Wisconsin?”

“Wisconsin.”

“We’re driving.”

“You’re driving.”

“We are driving.”

 

 

When they finally reach the town of Rush River, St.Croix County, pop 602, the last stop on their list of “possibles”, Castiel is wishing that he’d stayed back in Purgatory. At least it would have saved him this particular aggravation. When travelling with Sam & Dean, he’d rarely had to drive, seeing that a) Dean wouldn’t let him drive the Impala except in an emergency and b) Dean wouldn’t LET him drive the Impala except in an emergency and c) He didn’t WANT to drive the Impala except- well, he didn’t want an emergency either, so he didn’t want to drive. Period.

He thinks Israfel may be a more annoying side-seat driver than Dean had ever managed to be.

 

As they pull up near the local hospital, Castiel says, “I’ll handle this”.

Israfel raises an eyebrow.

“Stay here”, Castiel tries his “commanding” tone, which, he has to admit, never really went down well with either Dean or Sam, so he has no idea why he thinks it will work on Israfel.

It doesn’t.

 

The middle aged lady at the tiny lobby looks surprised to see two Special Agents staring down at her.

“Let me see, around mid-May 2013, you say?, I’ll have to dig it up…you have to forgive me, we don’t usually expect Federal agents here, and..”

“It’s ok, Ms…ah..Wells, we’ll just wait here, take your time.” Castiel smiles at her.

A quick glance to his left finds Israfel standing solid and forbidding beside him.

Castiel sighs inwardly. He’ll have to suggest ways in which she can improve her bedside manner. It’s strange, he thinks, Israfel generally has no problems interacting with humans, but put her in an agent get up, and somehow, she just became a pillar of salt. But more threatening.

 

Moira Wells returns after 15 minutes, chuckling, holding a file. 

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it the moment you mentioned it..it was such a deal of excitement then, but y’know, I don’t really think of Mark as a missing person anymore”

“Excuse me?”

“Mark..Mark Smith..well, that’s what he calls himself now, and we’ve sort of forgotten a time when he wasn’t here, but yes, he actually might be the person you’re looking for. He wandered in one night, wet and naked…poor dear, couldn’t remember anything..his name, address..whether he’d been in an accident..it was just strange. We admitted him of course, but there wasn’t anything wrong with him either..physically, that is..he just couldn’t remember anything about his past. Father David took him in, when he was discharged. He’s stayed with him ever since. Helps around the church, poor Father David, his eyesight ain’t what it used to be anymore, and in the winter his knees pain something terrible.”

 

Castiel and Israfel study the Polaroid in the file.  A fair-skinned man with dark brown hair ,pale grey eyes and scrawny neck sticking out of hospital scrubs stares back at them,. Castiel glances at Israfel, who shrugs.

“Thank you for your help Ms. Wells” he says, handing the file back to her, “We would like to speak with..Mark”

“You’ll find him at the Church, it’s just at the corner of 6th, next to the Wilkinson’s store, easy enough to find…oh, and do call me Moira”, she adds, beaming at Castiel.

For some reason, that actually makes Israfel smile, as they say their goodbyes to her.

 

 

“Who do you think it is?” Israfel asks, as she buckles her seatbelt.

“I don’t know” Castiel sighs.

They might never know.

 

 

They find Mark Smith mowing the lawn of the parsonage that’s just next door to the church. He’s a little taller than Castiel, but not as tall as Israfel; thin to the point of emaciated, almost. He stops the mower as he sees them approach.

“Mr. Smith?”

He nods.

“I’m Special Agent Novak and this is Special Agent Rembrandt”

He looks at Israfel.

“Like the painter guy?”

“Yes, no relation.”

“Huh”

He seems waiting for them to continue.

“We’re here looking for a person who..disappeared, around two years ago, in this area. You..fit the description, so we thought we could have a chat with you”

“Disappeared from where?”

“Around”

Mark Smith frowns.

“Father David and I looked up every missing persons’ report in this state and two neighbouring states. There wasn’t anybody who fit my description.”

“Er..ah, this was ..more of a confidential..”

“State business” chimes in Israfel.

“Are you telling me I look like a fugitive?”

“We can’t really confirm that, Mr.Smith” she adds, smooth as anything “But it would help if you could answer a few questions”

He shrugs. “I suppose”

“You folks wanna come up?”

“You stay here?”

“Father David rents me a room in exchange for my helping around here. He’s been real kind. They all have.”

 

They follow him up a rickety stair case to what is obviously a converted attic. With the three of him squeezing in, it feels even tinier than it is. There’s a single bed, 1 chair, and a small stove.  A wooden desk is pushed to the side, and there are books everywhere- on the desk, on the floor, on the small bedside table.

 

“I’m sorry, it’s a bit of a squeeze”

“No problem” says Israfel, and perches herself on the end of the bed.

Castiel sits next to her, leaving Mark to take the chair.

 

“You seem to enjoy reading” he remarks.

Mark chuckles.

“Yeah, well..I suppose you know that I..when I turned up here, I couldn’t remember my name or where I came from, or where I was going..nothing..and then I realized I seemed to have forgotten other things too..I just didn’t..I didn’t know things, ordinary things..and..well, Father David got me reading..and it..helped. Maisie at the library is real kind too, lets me keep books longer than she should.”

 

“What do you want to know..I..there’s precious little I could tell you..”

 

“What do you remember of the night you came here first?” asks Israfel.

 

“Nothing much, really. I must have been in an accident. I somehow found myself at  the hospital. I blacked out, I think, when I woke up, Dr. Kendall and Nurse Meredith were standing over my bed..”

 

“You were wet, when you came to the hospital, do you know how that might have happened?”

 

Mark shrugs. “Fell in the river? That does seem the most logical explanation, doesn’t it?”

 

“But you don’t remember getting out of the river?”

Mark hesitates for a fraction, then says “No”.

 

He’s not being truthful, Castiel can tell.

Instead of pressing the point, however, he asks “Do you have strange dreams, sometimes?”

Mark goes absolutely still.

 

“What..what do you mean?”

“Sometimes, people who’ve lost their memories, find that they remember things in dreams, or they seem to dream about things that feel like memories, only they aren’t sure”

Mark licks his lips, nervously.

“I..”

“It’s ok, Mark, you can tell us.” Israfel says, gently.

“I..sometimes I have these dreams..violent ones..mostly, blood and fire…and these..creatures, and I..I don’t know, they feel real, you know? But how can they be? Doc says it’s part of the trauma, and it will go away, eventually..but..”

 

Israfel looks at Castiel, as though expecting him to say something.

 

What.

What could he say?

What should he say?

 

Instead, he asks again, “Do you find that sometimes you can do..things that other people can’t?”

 

Mark’s expression is confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, are you able to..lessen people’s pain or something, by..touching them?”

Mark’s face goes from confused to disbelieving.

“What?”

Castiel shrugs. “Sometimes, people who’ve had a near death experience, find themselves..with some abilities.”

“You think I’m some kind of kook psychic? What kind of agents are you anyways?”

 

When Castiel and Israfel remain silent, he says, slowly, “You’re not agents, are you?”

 

Israfel says quietly, “No.”

 

“Then who are you? What are you?”

 

Mark gets to his feet, panic rising in his face.

 

“We’re not here to hurt you, Mark..but you may want to hear us out” says Castiel

 

“Are my dreams…real?” Mark whispers, shocked, now.

 

He sinks back into the chair.

 

“We think..we’re almost sure, those are actual memories, Mark.”

 

Mark’s face is mutely desperate.

 

“Two years ago, there was an event that was unprecedented, in this history of this world.  You may have missed it because you were in hospital and recovering, but the day you wandered into that hospital, was also the day there were ..some unexplained meteor showers all over the world”

 

“Wait a minute. You’re saying I’m some kind of E.T that fell from the sky?”

 

“You’re an angel”

 

“A WHAT.”

 

“An angel”

 

“Like with the fluffy wings and everything?”

 

“I doubt your wings were fluffy. In any case, we’re..were wavelengths of celestial intent, that occasionally took form”

 

“We?”

 

Castiel nods.

 

“You’re saying you both are..”

 

“Fallen angels too, yes”

 

“Why do you remember and not me?”

 

Castiel and Israfel exchanged glances.

 

“We don’t know, Mark. All we know is..there was a spell, and it was powerful enough to expel a lot of us and throw us into this realm. Some of us remember and are..well, you see us. We don’t know how many survived the fall, how many survived it with their memories intact…”

 

“I..I can’t..” Mark’s voice is shaken.

 

Castiel finds he’s compelled to comfort him, so he moves to place his hand on Mark’s shoulder.

 

“It’s a lot to take in. We didn’t intend..”

 

“Do you know my name?” Mark whispers.

 

Castiel finds his breath catching.

 

“Yes”, he says softly.

 

“Tell me.”

 

He looks at Israfel, who’s looking at them both with something that may be sorrow.

 

“Malachi”.

 

 

They leave him a number, tell him to call when he wants to talk.

 

 

Israfel drives.

There’s an unspoken agreement between them that they cannot spend the night in this town.

 

In the dark, in the confines of a car, Castiel finds himself remembering another conversation. Perhaps it’s that which makes him say, “There was a time, a brief period, after..after the Leviathans, when I didn’t know who I was. It was a strange time. “

“You came back from the dead. I heard.”

“Did you…wonder why?”

“Why?”

“Why I was..brought back?”

In lieu of answering, Israfel turns on the radio, fiddles until she finds something playing classical.

“At the time, I thought…so justice could be done”

“And now?”

The question floats in the air, carried by Beethoven’s Ode to Joy.


	4. The Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting with Mark/Malachi leaves Israfel and Castiel shaken.

They stop for the night at a motel off the I-94. It isn’t as seedy as some of the ones he’s stayed at with the Winchesters, but it isn’t very upscale either. The rooms are neat, the wallpaper faded but clean, the beds comfortable, if slightly too small for them both.

 

The silence is broken only by the shuffle of feet shucking off shoes, a zipper being drawn on a duffel, and Israfel’s question whether he would like to use the bathroom first is perfunctory, she’s inside and locking the door before he even says no.

 

 

There’s a bunch of calling cards in his bag; he’d found it the first time he opened it after he left Lawrence.  He wonders which of them left it there for him; he knows which of them he _hopes_ it is.

 

In the beginning, on the nights that he was quiet like this, they left him alone mostly; and he would wander around the Batcave picking out books that he’d thought he’d like to read, or poking around in the boxes that they’d unearthed. Dean would try to make it better, in his own way- the way that Castiel has learnt to treasure- the occasional touch to his shoulder, the chicken soup made the way he likes it. Sometimes Dean would insist that they watch a movie and there would be popcorn, and good natured banter between the brothers, that he sometimes paid attention to, but mostly tuned out in favour of what was being played on the screen- but it was nice  to feel Dean’s presence next to him on the couch, the way his hand would oh-so-casually find its way around the back rest- not touching Castiel- not really, but there, and if Castiel sometimes leaned back into the not-touch, well, nobody remarked on that either. 

Castiel had quickly figured out that he preferred Sam’s choice of movies to Dean’s; but he had also learnt not to express that aloud, because apparently, it was the equivalent of a declaration of war, and it would inevitably end up in a movie marathon that would find him bleary-eyed and with a raging headache the next day.  _Not good_.

 

Yes, sometimes, when the silence in his head becomes this loud- when the absence of his brothers and sisters feels like an avalanche rolling through his veins, threatening to bury him beneath it, when the weight of his phantom limbs feels like stones tied to his feet, and he is drowning, drowning- sometimes, in those moments, he is grateful for Sam and Dean, their careful touches, and their camaraderie, their opening up of their hearts and home to him. And he wonders if he’s being a fool, to leave that for what is a _dream_.

 

Once, a few months after he had first come to the bunker, Sam had gone through one of his bouts of fever- the effects of the hell trials were slow to leave his body. Every time it happened, there would be a tightness around Dean’s mouth, a hardness in his eyes, that only left when looking at Sam, as he fussed over him, tried to bring the fever down.

 

This round was particularly severe, the fever spiking so high that Dean and Castiel had to stay by his side all night, taking turns place cold compresses while Sam tossed and turned and murmured what seemed to be nonsense. Around 4 am he’d woken up all of a sudden and said “Dean, tell me a story.”

 

“You want me to tell you a story?”

“Yeah, y’know, you used to tell me stories, to put me to sleep, some nights. Remember the one about the Eskimo and the husky? That was a good story”

“I..” Dean stammered, “I don’t remember that one” 

“Maybe I can tell you one” Castiel murmured.

Sam turned to him, eyes fever bright, “Really, Cas? You would?”

“If that’s alright with Dean..”

Dean shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

So Castiel began his story.

“This takes place in a city called Atlantis”

“Atlantis?” huffed Dean, “Like the Lost City under the sea?”

“No, that was only a pale imitation of the city I’m going to tell you about.”

“You’re saying that was _real_??”

“ _Of course_ it was real, Dean”, piped Sam. “Now shut up, and let Cas tell his story”

Dean rolled his eyes, muttered, “I’m going to fetch some more ice”.

 

“We were summoned there by a priest who had used a very powerful spell. It wasn’t usual for us to interfere in the lives of those worlds that lay beyond the – well, what you have apparently named the ClG J1449+0856- I know, distinctively unimaginative- but we were rarely given charge of worlds, like we were given of Earth; so it came as a surprise when the summoning reached us. This part is boring, so I won’t go into detail- but suffice to say that bureaucracy everywhere works the same- well, the long and short of it is that Uriel, Anael and I found ourselves making the trip to Atlantis.”

“Anael? You mean..Anna?”

“Yes, Anna.”

“Wow.”

Castiel smiled at the look of awe on Sam’s face.

“Well, so it turned out this priest had summoned us on behalf of the king of the realm. Or I should clarify- one of the kings of the realms, for Atlantis is vast, and nobody, not even us knew exactly how many realms it contained, and how many kings or queens were there who considered themselves The Power”

As Castiel continued his story, trying his best to make it _fun_ and _interesting_ and _cool_ and less like those reports he’d had to read when commanding the garrison, he’d watched Sam slip away into what finally seemed like a restful sleep. He hadn’t  stopped however, because he’d known that Dean had returned; quite some time ago, in fact, that he was standing in the doorway to Sam’s room, letting the ice melt into the cloth and drip to the floor.

When he finally finished, Dean had said quietly, “That was quite some story, Cas.”

“Thank you”

“You ought to write it down someplace”

“Perhaps”

Dean had come into the room then, sunk into the chair beside the bed, laid his hand gently on Sam’s forehead.

“I think the tide is turning” he’d whispered, “About time”

 

The next day Castiel had found a bunch of notebooks, and a pen by his bedside, with a post-it note “For your stories”.  

But Castiel only started writing in them the day he discovered he couldn’t remember whether it had been Rachel or Inias that time with the incident in the Phoenix cluster.

 

The books lie at the bottom of the duffel.

Whom was he writing for, he sometimes wondered.

Who would be interested?

Who would even believe it true?

Years from now, if he survived this madness, would those stories only be stories to him too?

 

Perhaps it was Malachi who had been gifted, even as he was cursed, reflected Castiel, as he stared at himself in the mirror. The day old stubble, the dark shadows under his eyes, the mosquito bite swelling up on his collar bone, just beginning to itch.

This is him, now.

The growing pile of books in the duffel, that is him, then.

Dean and Sam had imagined that it was the flesh and bone that bound him now.

It is not, it is time.

 

It is the only thing in this world that has any meaning.  

 

When he steps outside the bathroom, he finds that Israfel too is seated in front of the dressing table-with-mirror between the beds. She has a nightly “beauty routine” as she calls it- as far as he can tell, it isn’t anything more elaborate than moisturizer and a comb dragged roughly through her hair. Perhaps she was being ironic and he hadn’t caught it.

 

Apropos of nothing she says “She wasn’t my vessel, you know”.

He sits down on the bed; she continues to talk, still looking in the mirror.

 

“She was my first human charge. Usually they don’t assign one personally, do they? But somehow, she got one. I think maybe I was being punished for something? Watching over one measly human- at any rate, given the life expectancy of humans at that point, I was expecting it to go by in the blink of an eye.

She had a hard childhood, grew up on a farm in Denmark; her father died in one of their wars..it was around 1704-1705 I think? I remember her crying herself to sleep at night, stifling the sounds so that she wouldn’t wake up the younger ones. There was something so..resilient about her, even then.

She grew up, married another farmer, a sturdy, silent type. He didn’t speak much, but then neither did she. They loved each other fiercely, for all that, and had three children- in quick succession, I might add.  

And then she fell ill- a small cut, that turned into an infection that turned into a disease that was eating her away on the inside. I tried to soothe her, through her pain, the fever turning her delirious, so that one time I thought she could actually see me, keeping vigil by her bedside.

I sent word back home, asking whether I had permission to heal her. I had never been in that situation before, I didn’t know what the rules were. There wasn’t any reply. And then he came- the Reaper.

I thought to myself, perhaps the rule was- I had to make choice.

So I fought him.”

 

“You fought a Reaper?!” Castiel is both incredulous and awed.

 

She turns to him with a smile.

 

“I did. My excuse is that I didn’t know enough to tell whether that was brave or foolhardy- or whether there was a difference.”

 

“I battled him for seven days, while she lay, already as still as death, the fever almost gone, but she would not- could not- wake up.”

 

“But in the end, he prevailed. A wound, to my Grace, that pierced so deep, I had to stop, and he…took her.”

 

Her mouth twists.  “Suddenly, 35 human years felt like an eternity, as though that tear drop of a moment had been my entire life and it was taken from me.”

 

Castiel swallowed down the ache in his throat.

 

“I never forgot her- or looked for her - I felt I had failed her in the one thing she needed me not to fail her in.”

 

“She wasn’t special, in any way, or to anyone, except to the three people that buried her, and the fourth that watched from a different plane. There was nothing remarkable about her y’know? But I never forgot her, not one scar on her knee, or one mole on her back. Margaretha, that was her name, and I was witness to her life, and the only one left who remembers. I was thinking of her then- as I Fell- her face imprinted on my minds even as everything else was being torn from me- I think that’s why I have this form.”

 

Castiel reaches out and touches her hand.

 

“And now, I forget everything- where the keys are, whether I actually washed the dishes..stupid, small things- and soon, the bigger things will be lost to me as well, I know.”

 

The intensity of her gaze burns into his skin.

“I don’t want to forget, Castiel.”

 

“I know” he whispers, “Neither do I.”


	5. Raqib

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has his credentials questioned by a former member of his garrison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that canonically, as of end of S7, we can assume all of Castiel's garrison is dead.   
> But ha, if SPN can keep bringing characters back to life, I can bring *hypothetically* dead characters back to life.

They find him passed out in an alley, his hands stretched outward as though he were about to take flight from a mountain peak, and not, in fact, sprawled atop a bunch of trash bags.

It is 11 am, Thursday, 17th September 2015, on Conant St, Hamtramck, MI. There are some people on the street, a woman clatters by on heels that are far too high for her pace; an old woman shuffles her way, bag in one hand, and walking stick in the other, presumably to the tiny 7-11 down the road.  Across the street there are a bunch of kids having a soccer game, which threatens, any moment now, to devolve into an all out scuffle.

 

“Are you going to help or am I here to do the heavy lifting?”

Israfel’s voice jolts him back to the task at hand.

She’s kneeling beside him, and lifts her hand to not-so-gently slap at one cheek.

“Hey! Raqib!Hey! Wake up!”

Raqib sleeps on.  He’s slightly built, a shock of messy dark hair atop a dusky, smooth-skinned face, full lips, and a well-defined chin. There’s an empty bottle of cheap liquor that rests against his hip; for a moment Castiel is transported back to the time he’d found the liquor store.  He wonders how much Raqib needs to find his oblivion, and where he has been  searching for it.

“Hey, Castiel, a hand here?” Israfel’s tone is annoyed, and he jerks himself forward to help her lift him. They drag-carry him to the car- mercifully still there- and Israfel props him against the front door while Castiel unlocks the back. They manage to arrange him, with some difficulty. 

Raqib sleeps through it.

Castiel can feel the sweat pooling at the nape of his neck as he slams the door shut.

Israfel raises an eyebrow, which Castiel correctly decodes to answer, “Yes, I’m sure.”

Israfel shrugs, and it always surprises him how fluid her gestures are, never any awkwardness, never any hint that she once inhabited anything but this frail construct of flesh, blood and bone.

 

 

Raqib sleeps for 14 hours.

Israfel is cleaning out her gun when he wakes up; one moment he’s prone on his back, the next he’s propelled upward, making a sound like he’s been pulled out of water, gasping as breath rushes back into his lungs.

It’s the first sound they’ve heard him make.

Israfel sets down the gun on the desk, turns toward him.

He stares at her, and then shifts his gaze sideways, takes in the other figure in the room.

 

“Glory be” he rasps, voice slightly slurred. “Our fearless leader has returned”.

Israfel picks up her gun, resumes cleaning it.

Sometimes, Castiel wishes that Israfel weren’t quite so calm.

“That statement isn’t entirely true”, he avers, because it seems important to clarify.

Raqib shrugs. “Whatever, Che, I’m outta here.”

He’s on his feet and out the door before Castiel can even so much as say “Stop”.

 

Israfel doesn’t even look up, so it’s left to Castiel to follow him out. Raqib is already half way across the motel parking lot.

“Wait!” Castiel calls, “Wait!”

Raqib doesn’t break his stride, and by the time Castiel catches up with him, they’re both out on the highway.

“Save it, Castiel”, Raqib says. “I got no interest in what you have to say”.

“Please” says Castiel, “please.”

Raqib stops and rounds on him, his hazel eyes fierce.

“You forget I’ve heard this before” he grits out. “Free will blah blah, new heaven new earth blah blah and now with an extra dose of what- emigrant blues?”

Castiel swallows. “I don’t have any speeches”, he says, his voice tight in his throat.

“Good..good, because even if you did, I DON’T FUCKING CARE.”

Castiel lets his gaze fall, take in the track marks on Raqib’s arm.

“Yes, you do.” he says, quietly.

Raqib punches him.

Castiel reels back, stumbling a little, but manages to stay upright. He’s quite proud of this; for a slightly built man, Raqib’s punch packs quite a bit of power.

A second punch comes his way, but this time Castiel is prepared to deflect it with his arm.

They grapple there, on the sidewalk, Raqib’s not going for finesse; he’s too angry. It’s a good thing the highway is practically deserted at this time.

 

When they finally stop, it’s because they’re both out of breath, sweat pouring down their faces. Castiel collapses onto his knees, and a few seconds later so does Raqib. There’s already a bruise blooming under Raqib’s eye, Castiel knows it will hurt. He can feel the sting where his own lip is split from one of the rings that Raqib wears on his left hand.

“Come back to the motel”, he pants, “let me put an ice pack on that”, he gestures toward his face.

“Fuck you.”

Not for the first time, Castiel marvels at how many of his siblings have adopted the language of this foreign land, far more comfortable with it than he is, even after all these years.

Raqib sits back, knees drawn up, his hands held out in front of him.

He does not look at Castiel.

They sit there, catching their breath, feeling their heartbeats slow down to something like normal.

 

“Rachel.” Raqib grinds out, finally. “You killed her.”

“Balthazar. Raphael. Hester. Inias. Muriel. Samandriel. Jegudiel. Ariel. Leliel, Ion…” Castiel’s voice trails off.

“Great. You remember their names? Huh? Am I supposed to be fucking _grateful_ that you’re _sorry_?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“So what then? You’ve got it into your head that you need redemption and once again the rest of us- what remains of us- get sacrificed at the altar of your _good intentions_?”

 

Castiel remembers when Raqib first joined the garrison. He’d been among the youngest angels, the _newest_. He remembers Raqib’s fervour and his devotion. He remembers Raqib’s quick laughter and his not-so-secret admiration of Anael and his heartbreak, ill-concealed, when she Fell.

 

Raqib is still talking, the litany of his sins recited by yet another.

He should feel ashamed, he knows.

Instead, he is merely annoyed.

Because surely-

 

“I don’t have any promises for you or any explanations” he says, cutting off Raqib mid-sentence.  “The truth is, if I had a chance to go back and make some of those choices again- maybe I’d make the same ones. I don’t know. I know that the list of my sins is long, their nature unforgivable. I do not seek forgiveness. I _cannot_. I only know what I must _do_ , now.  I ask that you stand with me. Will you?”

 

Raqib stares at him for a long moment, then looks away.

 

“You poor, sad _fool_ ”, he says, quietly.

 

There doesn’t seem to be much to be said to that, so Castiel keeps quiet.

 

“How did you find me?”

 

“There were only 55 emergency medical cases during one of the worst snow storms the area has seen in a hundred years- and certainly the worst for a snow storm in _spring_. We worked from there.”

 

Raqib’s face is still so open, so _young,_ that Castiel’s heart wrenches to see the grief in his eyes that he cannot hide.

 

_All his words feel so false when confronted with Raqib’s loss._

 

“I thought messiahs came with signs- walking on water or parting the seas.”

 

“I don’t have a sign” Castiel replies, “but I’m here.”


	6. Domestic Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions within Team Free Heaven are on the rise as they take a trip into Amish Country to investigate- a lack of strangeness.   
> Israfel exhibits an interest in quilts, while Raqib may be channeling Dean Winchester. Meanwhile, Castiel keeps secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa. This chapter really got away from me. It was meant to be a single chapter, but now consider this the first of a two-parter episode.   
> Also: Shipshewana and the Flea Market are real life places/events in Indiana; everything else is obviously fictional.   
> Also, also: I love reviews and feedback more than Dean Winchester loves pie. Please do leave me some!

“We need to move” says Israfel, after a week. They’re having dinner at a tiny restaurant that serves Middle Eastern cuisine, on Raqib’s insistence.(“You haven’t tasted heaven until you’ve had their _hummous._ I haven’t tasted it this good since that time at Nebuchadnezzar’s palace. Actually, figures, I think there’s a direct bloodline between the King’s chef and the one here _._ ”).

 

Castiel has to admit that the soft _kubbous_ and the _shawarma_ is a welcome change from his Winchester-Novak induced diet of burgers and beer.

 

“You’re procrastinating” she prods, again. “What’s going on?”

 “Perhaps I’m just enjoying the _downtime_ ” he mutters, “is that so bad?”

 “Mmm-mmm….mmmm” is Raqib’s contribution.

 They ignore him.

 

“LaGrange County, Indiana”, says Castiel.

Raqib frowns- “Wait a second, isn’t that Amish country?”

 “Yes”

 “And?”

 “There was definitely a “meteor” that hit around there, but there doesn’t seem to have been any other kind of impact in that area.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “I mean, no crater, no fire, nothing strange, at all.”

 “You mean the strange thing is that there is nothing strange?”

 “Yes.”

 “Well” says Raqib, “I say we get all Three Investigators on this one.”

 Castiel thinks he might know this one.

 “I don’t think you’d make a very good Pete or a Bob”.

 “How about where I’m the brilliant Jupe?”

“Well, you do share his love of food but..”

 “We’ll take the check, please” calls  Israfel.

 

 

Later that night when Raqib has fallen asleep, Israfel says

 “There’s something you’re not telling us.”

 “I’ve told you all I that I gathered from the papers”

 “Uh-huh”

 “It’s late, you should sleep”

 “So should you”

 “But you’re going to be driving”

 “It’s your turn.”

 “Can I delegate? I should be able to delegate, shouldn’t I?”

 Israfel gives him a look that would fry lesser men.

Luckily for Castiel, he is barely a man, so he meets her gaze calmly.

 

 

The next morning finds Castiel behind the wheel, Razib passed out in the back seat _(“I’m not a morning person, this isn’t even morning; it’s fucking five am”_ ) and Israfel silent, staring out of the window, eyes covered by a pair of sunglasses.

It’s a couple of hours before they roll into La Grange, getting off the interstate, and it seemed, simultaneously stepping out of the 21st century as well. Raqib wakes up when the first horse-drawn carriage trots past them, and mutters “Fuck me”.

“Wrong kind of town for that” Israfel responds dryly; it’s the first thing she’s said other than to occasionally point out an exit or a turn. Castiel smiles at her, but it fades when he sees her forbidding expression.

She is, as Dean would say, _pissed off_.

Raqib seems to have _finally_ caught on.

“Aww, what happened, did Momma and Dada have an ickle fight?”

If Israfel still had her powers, Raqib would have been at the receiving end of a smiting. _At the very least_.

Castiel contents himself with a “Very mature, Raqib” but dares not look at Israfel as he says it.

He knows that Israfel has a _right_ to be angry, but some part of him also whispers _she should trust me_.

 

As they pass the sign at the entrance to the town (Shipshewana, pop 662), Raqib says- “Well, you’re right about nothing strange ever happening here- it doesn’t look like anything has changed in two centuries..I mean, leaving aside the bit where that part is _strange_..’

 

“They’re good people” defends Castiel, “people of faith.”

 “I don’t know man, do they even have cable here?”

 Castiel tries to catch Israfel’s eye in the mirror and is thwarted by the fact that she’s still got the sunglasses on.

 

She says “Let’s pull up over there”, pointing to a sign that said “Coles Bakery & Café”.

“They have pie!” exclaims Raqib, and Castiel feels his heart clench.

 

He hasn’t spoken to Dean and Sam since the day he’d met Israfel, and that had been a brief conversation. He’d thought several times since then about calling them, but each time he scrolled through to their numbers, something held him back.

Perhaps it was because he suspected that if he heard their voices too often, if Dean said _we’re in Louisiana, hunting a vampire nest, we could use your help_ , he would _go_. Or if Sam said, _hey, Cas, get this, that box we pulled up just before you left, it looks like some really interesting stuff about the legends of the yakshis in South India_ , and Castiel would say _wait until I get back, don’t start without me._ If, if, if.

If Dean said _come back,_ his voice gruff and vulnerable, the way he is only with Castiel and Sam, Castiel thinks he would go back.

 

It’s a quaint and lovely little shop with a café attached.  There’s a delicious aroma of what is probably cinnamon and baking bread.  As they seat themselves at a table, a young girl with pale skin and even paler blonde hair approaches them.

 “Hi, I’m Emma, welcome to Shipshewana”

 “Is it that obvious that we’re outsiders?” asks Raqib, with a quirk to his lips.

 Emma flushes a little, but keeps her smile and warm tone, as she says “Well, there aren’t that many townspeople, we pretty much know everybody ‘round here”

 “Also, you must be related to half of them” mutters Raqib _sotto voce_ but Israfel glares at him and covers, “This is such a charming place”

 “Regular favourite with the tourists” Emma says proudly.  “You folks here for the flea market?”

 “Yes” says Castiel at the same time that Raqib says “No”

 Emma looks between them, surprised.

 “He hates shopping,” Israfel offers by way of explanation.

 “Siblings, what can you do?” adds Castiel.

 This earns them another confused look, as Emma glances between the pale-skinned Israfel and Castiel, and the nutmeg brown Raqib.

 “He’s adopted”, says Israfel.

 “They love to remind me” mutters Raqib, but then flashes a sweet smile at Emma, who’s looking increasingly awkward, and asks “Do tell me you have some fresh pie.”

 “Sure do”, Emma smiles, clearly glad that the polite conversation bit is _over._ “We’ve got apple just out of the oven, and some pumpkin as well.”

  _“Awesome!”_

 

If Castiel didn’t know better, he’d suspect that Raqib is channeling Dean Winchester’s spirit just to annoy him.

 

 

As they wait for her to fetch their order, Raqib says, “So _that’s_ the grand plan? Go to the flea market and hope one of our fallen brothers shows up? Wow, Castiel, could this get any more optimistic? Or did you suddenly just develop a taste for antiques?”

Castiel glances at Israfel, but is met with a look of polite disinterest.

“I thought it might be a good place to start. There’ll be a lot of the local townspeople there as well as a chance to talk to people without arousing too much suspicion. We can just be tourists interested in local history..”

Raqib shrugs, “It’s actually a good plan”.

He breaks into a grin, “I just want to watch you interact with the locals, _fearless leader_ ”

“I happen to have brushed up on my people skills” Castiel replies, in what he hopes is a dignified tone.

 He catches Raqib and Israfel share an amused glance.

 “I have!” he protests again, “I just..have the occasional misunderstanding.”

 They both laugh, and Castiel is glad, because he feels some of the tension between him and Israfel dissipate.

 

When Emma comes by with the check, Israfel asks her if she could recommend any place they could put up for the night. “Well, actually, we do have a B&B attached here, but we’re full up at the moment, I think. I’ll just check with Molly and be back.”

“You’re in luck,” she says, ten minutes later, “We have a family that’s checking out later this afternoon. I could hold the room for you, if you’d like. It’s a queen with an extra bed. And I could hold your luggage for you until you get back, if you like?”

 “That’d be great, thanks Emma” replies Israfel. So they pay the advance, and unload their luggage, that Emma directs them to place in a small storage room. “I’ll have it moved in for you once the family checks out”, she promises.

“Thanks sweetheart” says Raqib, flashing her a smile that makes her flush.

 

_Really, thinks Castiel, he couldn’t be more like Dean unless he was Dean_.

 

 

The flea market area is huge. Castiel already knows that it’s supposed to be largest such one in the Midwest. It’s 11 am, and there is already quite a number of people milling around.

“I think we should stick together” says Israfel, just as Raqib detaches himself from their little group and heads off toward what seems like shops selling stuffed animal heads.

Castiel sighs.

 “Pick a direction”, he says, but Israfel has already marched ahead to his right.

 

_Honestly, this was worse than Sam & Dean when they were in one of their fights_.

 

He trails behind Israfel, taking in the sights and sounds of the market. There’s been a feeling of unease within him every since he’d first read _where_ the meteor incident had taken place, but today, on this warm day in early fall, the trees just turning colour, and a light breeze, the sounds of laughter and chatter around him, he tries to tell himself that it’s just his imagination.  They might not even find anything-or anybody-here. 

 Israfel has disappeared into one of the many stalls that feature hand-crafted furniture. From the cursory glance he’s given, he thinks they are indeed beautiful pieces, but too ornate for his own taste. He follows her anyway, quietly standing by as she talks to the stall owners about a rather lovely-even he has to admit it- bookcase. Idly he wonders how much it would cost to ship it to the bunker, and then chides himself for the thought. He needs to focus on the task at hand.

 These days, he feels his _second sight_ (as he must now call it, instead of what it always was- just _sight_ )- he feels it fading. These days sometimes he looks at Israfel and can only see her human face. He has to concentrate really hard then, to really _see_. Still, those are brief moments- although they seem to happen with increasing frequency. For the most part, he can still see, even if the image is becoming blurry or interfered, like a tv signal interrupted by a thunderstorm.

 

All the people around them are definitely, blissfully human.

 

They cover a couple of stalls like this. Israfel is doing most of the talking, and he has to admit _she’s good_.  When she’s not forced to wear _a stupid monkey suit_  and pretend to be a cop, she’s a natural at getting people to open up to her.  At one stall she asks about the possibilities of attending a church service. “We might stay here until the weekend, it’s such a lovely bit of country, but I’d feel bad about missing service on the Sabbath, you know?” she confides to an elderly woman selling handmade quilts. “Oh there are more churches here than you’ve got fingers and toes, sweetie”, the lady laughs, “and you’d be welcomed right into most of them.  Well excepting the really conservative ones, and that new one up near the lake.”

“New one?” Israfel keeps her voice casual.

“Well, new for roundabout here..going on about..what four years now? At first I heard tell they were those awful _evangelicals,_ what with their name “New Church of God on Earth”, but they’re..well, they’re a lot less enthusiastic about letting people in than any evangelicals _I’ve_ heard of.”

“I see”

“Anyway, dearie, you and your young man could drop in at my church if you wanted to, it’s on Maple St, you can’t miss it. We start at 7 am”

“We’ll sure try, and oh, this is my brother.”

Castiel hopes he has schooled his expression into a polite smile, because inside, his heart is twisting in what he recognizes easily enough as _fear_.

Israfel goes on to discuss whether pale green or pink would be more suitable against a lemon yellow wall, and when they leave, Castiel’s wallet is lighter by almost fifty dollars.  He thinks _that_ fact may be what seems to have improved Israfel’s mood, so that her tone is almost back to its normal level of friendliness when she asks “So you think there’s something with the church she mentioned? It’s a bit before the time we’re interested in, but it’s also near the lake, and isn’t that where the meteor was supposed to have hit?”

“We should check out the area near the lake” says Castiel, carefully neutral, “we might notice something that didn’t find its way into the papers”

Apparently, _neutral_ is revealing, as far as he’s concerned, because Israfel mouth tightens as she gives him one more of her intense, searching looks. “Fine” she says, her tone clipped, “Let’s just see how it goes.”

By the time they run into Raqib again – he’s at a food stall, _naturally_ \- they’ve found out precious little about the New Church of God on Earth. “Yeah, they’re a closed bunch, that crowd” said one local, shrugging, “don’t really talk much about what goes on there. Still, they’re law abiding, as far as one can tell, and don’t cause trouble for anyone. It’s a free country, ain’t it? And that’ll be five dollars, ma’am”, he says, handing over a brown bag of apples to Castiel. Castiel struggles to hold them, while also holding the bag with the quilts.

_Fine, Israfel could have her petty little revenge, if that’s the way she wanted to play it_.

 

Raqib’s eyebrows reach his hairline when he sees them.

“How exceedingly domestic this all looks” he sneers

Castiel sets the bag of apples down on the wooden table with a small thump.

“I presume you’ve found out something more useful than which are the best flavours of pie here.”

Castiel thinks there are the remnants of at least three slices, in the crumbs scattered on the table.

Israfel looks faintly nauseous. “You’re a pig”, she says, matter-of-fact.

“A clever pig” grins Raqib, unrepentant. “Also: the strawberry shake here? _To die for_ ”

“At the rate at which you consume sugar and carbohydrates, I’d say sooner rather than later” snarks Castiel.

“Well, I’d only have died twice, you’ll still hold the record on that one, don’t worry”

Castiel chooses to ignore _that_ one, and says instead “What have you found out?”

“Well, I pretended to be oh-so-interested in astronomy and the like, asked a few questions about the meteor shower..”

“And?”

“Well, _zilch_. A couple of them hadn’t even seen it, that night, only heard about it. Did find out that it happened near a church near the Shipshewana Lake- and _one_ person thought there was actually a service happening at the time there..but that could be just a rumour..don’t you think the papers would have picked up that when they came around?”

“Not if the church in question was particularly secretive” says Israfel.

Castiel flushes under her direct look.

“We’ll check on it tomorrow,” he says, “I’m rather tired, aren’t you? Plus it’s unlikely that there’ll be anybody we can speak to there today, it’s only Friday.”

Israfel shrugs, “Ok”.

Raqib looks between them and sighs.

“ _Man_ ,” he mutters, “ _I did not sign up for this_.”

 

The crowd is already thinning as they’re heading out toward the parking lot- Castiel having offloaded at least one of the shopping bags to Raqib, but still stuck with the other one _and_ the apples.

Two children run full tilt into him, causing him to drop the apples. Abashed, they stop to help him pick up the apples that have rolled off the path and onto the lawn. “Sorry” says the taller of the two, a young girl with blonde hair neatly braided and cheeks red with embarrassment. She looks to be around nine years old; Castiel smiles at her and says “it’s ok” even as he looks up from the ground, to see the embarrassment fade from her face into something like shock and excitement. “It’s you!” she squeaks. “I..I don’t think we’ve met” he stammers, even as he remembers _exactly_ how they have. Her brother is also gazing at him with unabashed curiosity.  Castiel fumbles, picking up the last of the apples, and trying to make his getaway. Luckily, Raqib and Israfel have walked on ahead, not having noticed his little accident.  Since his luck is so infernally bad, it is of course only natural that the children’s parents turn up just then. He watches as their expressions run the gamut between shocked recognition and amazement, mutters “I’m sorry, I have to go”  before they can say anything and makes quick strides to where Raqib and Israfel have paused, waiting for him to catch up.

“What happened?” asks Israfel sensing the urgency in his movement.

“Nothing, just a small mishap, let’s go.”

Luckily they aren’t too far from where their car is parked. Castiel resists the temptation to check if the family has followed them. As they pull out of the parking lot, he sees that they’re still standing where he’d left them; the man talking on his cellphone. He keeps his head down, as they pass by them on their way out, and wishes that Israfel had put up the windows. The little girl, _Mary_ , Castiel remembers, points to the car.  As they drive past, in his peripheral vision, Castiel sees that the entire family is staring after them.

_Damn it_.

“What was that about?” asks Israfel.

“Nothing” he replies, trying to keep his voice casual. “The kids ran into me, I dropped the bag, they helped me pick up. That’s all.”

He sees Israfel’s eyes meet Raqib’s in the rearview mirror, but they don’t push it.

“It’s nothing”, he repeats, quieter.

 

 

Emma has move in their luggage, as promised, and informs them that dinner will be served at seven in the café.

“Thanks Emma”, says Raqib, but even he’s quiet now.

Israfel, of course, has already taken the keys and is on her way upstairs.

 

In the room, the silence is deafening at first.

Raqib aims at keeping up some pretence, asking Castiel about when they should set out tomorrow.

“I’d say we’re in no hurry” he replies, “and considering you’re not a morning person..”

“I can wake up if it’s necessary” Raqib snaps, and apparently Castiel is so out of favour right now, he can’t even _make a joke_.

“We could start around 10, what do you think?” he says then. ‘Fine” says Raqib and Israfel shrugs as though to say it didn’t matter to her if they even _went at all_.

 

It’s even worse at dinner, where the other two make desultory conversation- quilts!pie!furniture!- while mostly ignoring him, except to say “pass the potatoes” or “Could I have the salt please?”

Castiel would make more of an effort to appease them, if that unease that he’d felt before even coming here hadn’t coalesced into a very real fear knotting his stomach, that was making it difficult to even swallow down the admittedly delicious dinner that Emma and her elves had concocted.

 

It was a relief when they finally went back to their room.

“That was _good_ ”, groans Raqib, “but I think I may have overdone it a bit with the desserts today”

“A tad”, Israfel grins at him, and Castiel is so happy to see her smile, he can even ignore the way the smile is wiped out when she turns to him.

“I’m setting the alarm for 6 am” she says, “Folks out here are up early, and breakfast is served at 8”

Castiel nods, moves to draw the curtains.

 

Their room overlooks the parking lot, and in the light from the single street lamp overhead, he sees that there are three men standing beside their car. His heart thumps madly in his chest, and he tries to draw the curtains as carefully as possible. Almost as if they’d heard his heartbeat, the three men- all dressed entirely in black- with one wearing a dark coloured jacket over his black shirt- they turned their heads as one looking up to the window where he stands, now hidden behind the half-drawn curtain.

“Is there something particularly interesting in the parking lot?” Israfel’s voice is dry.

He turns toward her, “No, nothing” and when he turns back to draw the curtain fully, they’re gone.

 

The LED lights of the little clock by the bedside say 03:30.

The room is quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner, and the quiet sounds of Raqib and Israfel’s breathing.

He tries to make as little noise as possible as he pads around in socked feet, shuffling into his jeans, and slipping on his jacket. He tucks in his gun at the back, and sticks a small torch and the map into the left pocket of his jacket. He sneaks out of the room in his socks, holding his shoes in one hand. He only puts them on when he’s downstairs near the reception. Emma had said that the back door was generally left unlocked- a luxury in this crime ridden century, Castiel reflects. The night air is chill, but not so cold as to make the thin jacket superfluous. Castiel wonders whether he should attempt pushing the car out onto the road before starting it up and then decides it isn’t worth the trouble.

 

He takes a deep breath as the Camry purrs to life.

Whatever it is waiting for him at Shipshewana Lake, he knows that he needs to face it.

Alone. 


	7. Zophiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Has Castiel found another sibling who will join his quest, or will his fear take a shape?   
> Also, the one in which Israfel and Raqib are tired of Castiel's bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II of the Adventures of TFH (Team Free Heaven!) in LaGrange, Indiana.
> 
> It's gonna take me a couple of days for the next update, but I do hope to make another one or two chapters this week. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and heh, friendly reminder: reviews are rainbows of friendship across the world. <3

It’s a clear night, with a bright moon, so that Castiel doesn’t find the lack of street lamps inconvenient as he turns off the main road. He knows he’ll have to park the car about half a mile away from the church itself and then hike through the forest/park area. 

 It’s cooler underneath the trees of course, as he makes his way up the single lane path, and darker as well. He’s glad the thought to bring the torch with him. The forest around him is silent, only the occasional toot of an owl breaking it, and the rustle of branches overhead in the light breeze that’s coming from the lake. Apart from that, there’s only the scuffle of his sneakers on the gravel path.

Soon, he sees the silhouette of the church building ahead. It’s a small, simple one, he knows; painted ivory on both the outside and the inside. He continues up the slight incline. The dark windows are shut, as is the main door, but he thinks he can see a faint light streaming from through the crack beneath the door. He feels he knot in his stomach that had loosened slightly on his drive over here tighten in anticipation.  A quick- and cursory-look around reveals nobody.

Climbing up the two small stairs, he first knocks on the door, and when there’s no reply, pushes slightly. It opens without a noise, and he finds himself in an empty church- well, empty save the lone figure standing in front of the altar. It’s a simple altar- a plain wooden semi circle around it, a pulpit at the left. There’s a menorah with lit candles beneath a stained glass window. The window had once held the plain design of a cross, Castiel knew, now it has the figure of a man in a trenchcoat. The halo _mocks_ him.

Castiel’s gasps and blinks as the figure in front of the altar moves toward him. In the near darkness of the church, Zophiel’s grace glows even brighter. He blinks again, and her _human_ face grows clearer. Her earthly form is nearly as beautiful as her heavenly one, pale, blonde hair glows like spun gold, drawn away from a face that could have been a Boticelli painting- in fact, Castiel thinks- it’s because Boticelli _had_ drawn her.

“You’ve come at last”, Zophiel says, and Castiel gasps again, because her voice is not her _human_ voice, it’s in his head. The dissonance is making his head spin and ears hurt, even though he can still understand her. 

“How? How is this..even possible?” he stammers, and he lifts his hand to shade his eyes as she draws closer.

“Brother”, her voice whispers, “Look at me”

“I c..can’t, you’re too bright” he whispers back, and he feels something liquid fill his ear.

 _Blood_ , he thinks, _I’m human now_.

Suddenly, the brightness is gone, as well as the piercing static in his ear. Spots dance beneath his eyelids for a few seconds, and then disappear. Slowly, he opens his eyes.

Zophiel stands before him, for all indications fully human, even though he can still make out the aura of her Grace.

She takes his hand and draws him down to sit on one of wooden benches that serve as pews, while she sits opposite him.

“I did not dare believe it when they reported to me that you had been sighted in the town today” she says, softly.

“I never intended to come back here” he replies

“What drew you here then?”

“I thought..I hoped that I would find one of us here”

“You’ve been tracking the meteor showers then?”

“Yes”

“You seem to have taken your time.”

“I..I was recovering”

She frowns, in the moonlight that is now streaming through the half-open door, she looks even more unearthly than before.

“But you haven’t recovered…your grace..it’s..”

“Gone”

“I’d hoped..I felt it, of course, your Grace underneath the spell that cast us out”

“You did?”

“Of course, didn’t you?”

Castiel shakes his head, unable to speak over the shame that tastes like bile in his throat.

“When I realized where I was, I’d hoped that this was a sign”

Castiel looks at her, confused.

“What do you mean…and how did you..survive?”

“Ah, _little one_ , sometimes I forget how _young_ you are, given the impact you’ve had on all our existences” she huffs softly, a trace of amusement in her voice.

“There were those among us that knew how to Fall without losing our essence- to keep it shrouded within us, to _contain_ it even as we were cast out. It’s an old magic, as old as the time when The Morning Star Fell, and it was kept secret. I don’t think there were any outside of Michael’s garrison who knew.”

Zophiel had been one of Michael’s, Castiel knew.

“Imagine my wonder when the trajectory of my Fall brought me here, to the very place where _you_ had already bought a chosen few to the Faith.”

“Mock me, if you will…I was too..drunk on my power to realize my folly” he whispers

“It was hardly _folly_ to heal a young girl from a terminal illness and thereby restore the faith of a flock grown weary of waiting”

“No, no..you don’t..what are you saying, Zophiel? I was..I had set myself as _God_ , I sought to replace _our_ _Father_ , and the things I did in the name of righteousness…all the destruction I wrought…in all the realms..” Castiel feels his eyes grow heavy with tears, and he struggles to hold them in.

“Our Father…” Zophiel’s voice is quiet, contemplative. Her eyes take on a faraway look as, after a pause, she says, “You had the right of it. He always wished us Free Will, but the Archangels, they.. _distorted_ and _twisted_ and _schemed_ until everything was lost to us, and not just to _us_ , to _humanity_ as well, these creatures, whom our Father loved.”

She brings her gaze back to meet his.

“But you had the right of it. And it had to be destroyed, razed to the ground, to be built up again, far more glorious than before.” There’s a fervour in her voice that is sending a chill down Castiel’s spine.

“What do you mean?” he finds himself whispering again.

“Why, a new heaven and a new earth of course- only we don’t need a separation between the realms- we can live as it was first intended- Paradise- where angels and men walk freely together”

Seeing the shock on his face, she laughs a little, a deep throated , full laugh.

 “Listen, brother, let Metatron keep his little kingdom- there are too few of us left there anyway, and those that wish to stay and follow him- _let them._ Here, it is _here_ that we’ll establish the _True Kingdom_ , and here that we will have a God that walks among us, like He once walked in Eden _._ ”

“I don’t understand, Zophiel”, Cas says, although he fears, he very much _does_.

“Not understand?” she cries, flinging herself up from the bench on which she’d sat.

“What’s there not to _understand_?”

“It was you, always _you_ ” she says, “I was blind to it before, by my ego and my pride, but what else could explain it? What else could explain your resurrections? What could explain the fact that it was _your Grace_ that has led to this wonderful moment in history. It has been your _destiny_ , from the _beginning_ , Castiel!”

“You want me..to what..be God?”

“You don’t have to _be_ anything other than you already _are_ , Castiel! You are what this world needs, not a faraway, distant God, but one who walks amongst us, who reaches out, to heal, to forgive, and yes, to _destroy_ , when needed!”

“Sister” he pleads, “Think about what you are saying! You cannot..”

“I cannot? _I cannot_?” she repeats, drawing herself up.

“I have _waited_ here,” she hisses suddenly, moving toward him, “ _waited_ , shielding the small band of faithful here, _preparing_ them, for _your_ return. And I have gathered the others..” she stops, suddenly.

Her eyes narrow, and she steps toward him again, closing the space between them.

“What is this I see on your face? Is it _repulsion_?”

“What you imagine cannot come to be, Zophiel. How do you imagine it will go if-when- it is suddenly revealed that there are angels among humans?”

“They will be scared, naturally, at first” she replies, “but with the right kind of guidance, they will come to the Path”

“And if they refuse or resist?”

“They can be made to see that there is only One Path”

“What Path” he says gently, fearing her answer

“The One Path of Righteousness and Faith” she replies

“There is no such thing, Zophiel”

In the silence, he thinks he can hear universes crumble.

“How _dare_ you?” she says, her voice tight with rage.

Castiel reaches out to her, but she steps back.

“But _of course_ ,” and she gives a slight laugh, “ _of course_ , this would be your reaction. You’re a god with clay feet, you always have been. Eager for power, and yet unable to wield it. How _dare_ you?”

“I am entirely without power now” he says, spreading his hands out to her, in supplication.

“And yet..yet you’ve managed to draw them to you, again..”

“Who?” he asks, his heart hammering madly now, _no, he thinks, not Israfel, not Raqib, no._

“You were travelling with two companions” she says, “I imagine they are of The Fallen. And you would not go gathering them unless you had a goal. What is it I wonder? Ah, let me guess, you wish to find a way back to that _god forsaken land_ ”

“It is our _home_ , Zophiel” Castiel pleads, “ _This_ was never _our_ home, it was _never meant to be_ ”

“And yet, _here we are_ , _whether we like it or not_.”

 

Castiel bows his head, “I’m sorry, sister”

 

She laughs, and it is a bitter sound.

“You never do what is asked of you, do you?”

Castiel finds a laugh dragged out of him too, unexpectedly, and the sound somehow gives him courage.

“No” he says, softly at first, and then more firmly “No, I do not.”

 

There’s a blur of movement, and he’s suddenly on his knees, and she’s twisting his head to bare his throat to her blade.

“I’m sorry it had to end this way, brother” she says.

 There’s the sound of a door being kicked open and a blessed, _familiar_ voice says

“Not just yet, I think”

 

Zophiel pauses and then twists his head so that he can see who his would-be rescuer is.

 “Israfel” says Zophiel, “Sister.”

“You’ve got a strange way of showing family loyalty” sneers Israfel, and Castiel wants to shout at her, _run, now isn’t the time for your stupid sass_.

But Zophiel has still got him in a death grip, and he’s no match for her.

“Let’s say, I learnt from the best” retorts Zophiel.

“Zophiel” he manages to choke out, “let her go”

Zophiel’s reply gets lost, because she’s suddenly gone in a blast of white light, and Castiel is falling to the floor.

 

When he opens his eyes, Israfel and Raqib are bending over him,

“Wha..what was that?”

“Banishing sigil” murmurs Raqib, “I just needed the extra few minutes”

“We need to get out of here” Israfel says, “before people come investigating. And I have no idea how long the sigil will hold.”

“A few hours I think,” he says “It could have been more..permanent if I’d known who it was”

“Zophiel” murmurs Castiel, “It was Zophiel”

“How the hell..never mind” says Raqib hastily, with a look at Israfel’s impatient face. “Lets get out of here.”

 

They run back to the main road. There’s an old Ford parked right behind the Camry.

Raqib jumps in and starts it, while Israfel practically snatches the keys to the Camry from Castiel.  They’re roaring down the road back to town in next to no time, and Castiel finally catches his breath to ask “ How..”

“Shut up” says Israfel, so he does.

 

They drive back to the Coles’, Israfel pulling in just in time for Castiel to see Raqib carefully parking the Ford back in the space marked “Owners”.

He grins at Castiel, as he walks across to them. “I didn’t stick around Detroit for two fucking years without learning a few skills, yeah?”

Castiel wants to hug him, but he contents himself with a hand to his shoulder and a quiet, but very sincere “Thank you”.

Israfel says, “We better get in before the neighbourhood wakes up”, and even as she says it, the sky begins to lighten.

 

Back upstairs, Castiel knows he’s _in for it_.

Israfel is _furious_.

“Explain this to me, Castiel” she grinds out, fury holding her body taut.

Castiel looks to Raqib, but he’s not smiling now, either.

“I knew…I knew the Church, before. From my time as..well, from the time I had swallowed all those souls and set myself up as God…I made a stop here..somewhere between the leper colony and the politicians office…there was a sick girl here..the one we met in the parking lot..her parents..her church..they prayed so _hard_..so I _rewarded_ their faith. You _saw_.”

“And you know Zophiel had set up base here?”

“What? No..no! I couldn’t guess…after we got here, I thought it might be possible that the church was sheltering our brother/sister, whoever it was”

“Why didn’t you just wait to go with us?”

Castiel can’t meet her eyes.

“I was..ashamed. Terribly ashamed. I knew what I had done there- the evidence was there for all to see. And when we started hearing the stories about how they didn’t let outsiders in, I worried. I worried that somehow, _somehow_ , it had all gone _wrong_. It wouldn’t have been the first time. And I had no intention- _none_ \- of putting you both in _danger_.”

“Fuck you” says Israfel, and it startles him enough to look at her.

“We signed up to be with you, as your _partners_. Or are you believing your own press again? You think you’re some kind of leader, to our hapless, powerless selves?”

“No..no, it’s not like that..” Castiel stumbles, because, _yes_ , it had been exactly like that. He had taken on the role of _protector_ because _he_ had been the one to seek _them_ out. He was _responsible_ for them.

“We made our own decisions, Castiel” Israfel hisses, “and _thrice_ _damn you_ , if you can’t let us take the responsibility for them!”

“You gotta trust us, man” adds Raqib softly

“I do” says Castiel, “I _do_.”

“Then you gotta trust us to carry our own weight, and sometimes carry you too, capiche?”

“You have nothing to hide from us, Castiel” says Israfel, her voice a trifle gentler, now.

“We didn’t set out with you because we thought you were a god. If you’re not..if we’re not open with each other, this is just not going to work.”

She sits down on the bed, an expression of weariness on her face. 

“I apologize. I..I’m used to carrying my burdens alone, and I’ve tried to unlearn that habit..” he swallows around a lump in his throat, “but when it comes to my _family_..”

And suddenly he’s being hugged, because Raqib has thrown his arms around him in a bear hug, squeezing the breath out of him almost. Over his shoulder, he sees Israfel smile and roll her eyes, and he smiles back at her through his sudden tears, even as he hugs Raqib back.

 

 

While Israfel and Raqib are saying their goodbyes to Emma, Castiel steps outside to make a call. It gets picked up on first ring, “Cas?” says Sam, his voice incredulous, “hold on, hold on, I’m putting you on speaker, Dean’s driving”

“Is that Cas? Cas? Put him on speaker” he can hear Dean’s voice “Just a second”

“Hey, hey Cas, where are you man?” Sam’s voice is crackly, but clear enough.

“Just heading out of Indiana” Cas replies

“Shoot, we were just there..what..like a day ago? Which parts?”

“La Grange”

“Right, we were nearer the south..we’re heading back to Kansas now”

“What’s the word, Cas?” asks Dean

 _It’s a shortened form of my name_ he almost replies.

“Good, things are good..”

“You found any more of your brothers?”

“A couple, yeah”

“That’s amazing” Sam excitement is palpable over the phone. “Are they..how are they?”

“They’re more adept than I at navigating this world, I think” he confesses

“That’d be everyone, Cas” Dean laughs, but follows it up quickly with, “You doin’ ok? Not hurt or anything?”

“No, no. No physical injuries.”

There’s a moment’s pause as the brothers take that in.

When Dean speaks again, he says, “You guys wanna drop by the bunker anytime soon? Y’know you guys can come over anytime yeah? Even if we’re not around?”

Cas thinks the air in Indiana makes him stupidly emotional.

It makes him want to say _cheesy_ things like “If I had my wings I’d fly to you”

Instead he says, “Yeah, I know, thanks”

Then he says- because this was why he had called- stupid, letting himself get distracted- “Listen guys, I need you to keep your eyes and ears open”

“What’s going on?”

“Well, it turns out that not all the angels who Fell have lost their Grace or powers”

“What?!”

“How is that possible?”

“A spell dating back to Lucifer’s times, it seems. I don’t know much more about it right now, I’ll try to find out.”

“Ok so these guys..they’re our kind of guys or your standard issue dicks with wings?”

Castiel can’t help chuckling at Dean’s question. “May be the latter, I don’t know yet. Just keep your eyes and ears open. Ok?”

“Sure thing, Cas. I’ll get right on it when we get home” says Sam, “Probably recruit Charlie as well. She’s been complaining about how quiet it’s all been.”

“Fuck our lives, man, it’s like we need the apocalypse to keep from going crazy”

“I have to go now”

“Sure thing…”

“Take care buddy”

“Bye Cas”

“Bye, Dean, Sam.”

 

 

Israfel and Raqib are already in the car- Israfel’s actually letting Raqib drive, so Castiel gets in the backseat.

“You ok?” she asks, turning around to look at him.

“Yes,” he says, and it’s true, his heart does feel lighter. “Let’s go.”


	8. Sariel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The most impassioned of all trees,  
> The home of three intensities:  
> Gnarled trunk, dark concentrated leaf,  
> And flowers that burn in love and grief"  
> \- Vikram Seth

They’d decided that they ought to keep moving instead of heading back toward Israfel’s or Raqib’s homes.  There was also the _tiny_ matter of having to stay clear of Zophiel. For now, Castiel had drawn a sigil on the car that should keep them hidden, but it was only a temporary measure, he knew. They would also need to find a way to remain _personally_ hidden.  He knew of several charms that might be adequate, but he didn’t have all the ingredients to make them. Luckily, he knew a person who might have them.

He endures two minutes of Garth gushing over the fact that he was _so glad Castiel had called, because it’d been a while, and how was he doing, was that nasty cut he’d got on the rugaru hunt healed up yes it had how great you won’t believe the stuff we’ve got going on way down in Florida, it’s enough to make me stop believing in the Dalai Lama, you need what, oh no problem, whereabouts are you now oh sure thing, I’ll call you back in ten same number yeah by the way do you know what could work instead of gopher dust yeah right crushed powder of what is that right yes of course Castiel you’d know yeah gimme ten_.

 

Israfel and Raqib have been following his side of the conversation- what little there is- with amusement writ large on their faces, so when he hangs up, Raqib says“Sounds like you’ve got a best friend, Castiel” and rolls his eyes when Castiel replies “He’s not my best friend”.

 “He’s very good at his job” he adds, not wanting them to think badly of Garth, bringing them up to speed on him. “Also, he’s very nice, even though he is  sometimes… _alarming_ ”.

Garth calls back then, interrupting whatever it was that Israfel was going to respond with, and gives him the name of a shop that he could pick up some supplies along the way.

 

Israfel is driving now, and Raqib’s asleep in the backseat.

“Why do you think she didn’t come after you earlier?”

“I don’t know. It does seem strange. She could have located me much earlier if she really wanted to.”

“You believe what she said about waiting for you? That she thought some kind of miracle would bring you back there?”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t know what to believe.”

There’s silence for a few minutes.

“I think she was just testing you. If she’d really believed in that crap she was spouting about your friendly neighbourhood deity, she wouldn’t have gone for the kill that soon.”

“You think she intended to kill me all along?”

“Perhaps..she didn’t look for you because she didn’t think you’d be a threat in any way..until you actually showed up, and with _us_ in tow. Perhaps she thought if she could win you over, then she could win over the rest of your..constituency.”

He laughs.

“She’d have been woefully misled. I cannot imagine that _you_ would ever follow any orders of mine that easily.”

When she says nothing, he steals a glance at her in the rearview mirror.

There’s a small upward tilt to her lips that tells him all he needs to know.

 

They are supposed to pick up supplies from a small “specialties” store in Gary, Indiana.  Israfel refuses to listen to either Raqib or Castiel about directions, so it’s no wonder that they end up getting _delayed_. Fraying tempers are restored to almost-normal when Raqib finally spots the tiny sign on their fourth turn around the block. Israfel’s muttered “ _Berties, not Betty’s_ ” earns her one of Castiel’s glares, but unlike Sam or Dean, she remains unfazed. He must be losing his touch. 

He may have tied the charm around her wrist just a little extra-tight.

For _safety_ , of course.

 

“That was an interesting spell” comments Raqib, as they head back onto the I-90 “I’ve never seen that used before”

“It’s one of mine” confesses Castiel, “after..well, with the Winchesters it’s always one thing or the other, and without my..powers..I had to devise ways to keep the-us safe.”

He’s gratified to see that even Israfel looks a little impressed.

 

They’re on their way to Wahpeton, Iowa, pop 341.

Two years ago, the residents of the town woke up one morning to find that in the garden of every house there had, overnight, sprouted pomegranate trees, hanging heavy with fruit that literally glowed gold. When touched, the fruit split open to reveal the reddest seeds anyone had ever seen. Those persons brave-or foolhardy enough- to try to eat those seeds had to be taken to hospital with 3rd degree burns to their mouth and throats. Nobody had seen anything like it, and residents and authorities alike were stumped for explanations. “It’s the spirits of the old ones” one newspaper quoted an elderly woman as saying, “They’ve come to open the gates of paradise to us”.

The fruit lasted for three weeks; then they started dropping one by one, and then in clusters, spilling the seed where they stood. “They looked like rivers of blood”, one resident was reported as saying, “perhaps we’ve sinned, like the Eqyptians, and this is our punishment”. “It’s a sign of the end times, for sure”,Minister Jacobs of the New Life of the Saints church, had been reported to say,  “the sky is falling and everywhere there is godlessness. What more could we need as warning?”

Two months after the incident, a couple of sophomores out for a swim in the lake insisted that they’d seen a mermaid on a glowing island toward the middle of the lake. Daylight proved that they’d probably been imbibing, since the lake remained much the same as always, island-less and mermaid free, and the entire incident could be found recorded only on one blogpost, the writer preferring to be known to the world as _lupinisgay._

 

“Merfolk went extinct in 5000 B.C” says Raqib, frowning.

“Also they certainly didn’t look anything like what’s described here”

“I think the character the boys described may be attributed to the creative work of the Disney studio artists”

Raqib gapes at him.

“You mean they saw..Ariel?”

“Ariel?”

“Not our brother, the mermaid”

“Merfolk didn’t have names that have their roots in Greek” says Israfel impatiently

“Wait, are we even considering this real? I mean, the pomegranate trees sure, but a mermaid that looks like a character from a children’s film??” Raqib sputters.

“I’d have been inclined to consider it of little import too” agrees Castiel, “but something about the description of that island seems to ring true”

Raqib snorts, “You mean the part where “it glowed like the gold cups in Bellatrix’ vault”?”

“Who’s Bellatrix?” asks Israfel

Castiel and Raqib both turn to stare, astonished.

“You haven’t read Harry Potter??”

 

Castiel dreams.

_He’s rowing a boat toward an island in the middle of a vast lake. He cannot tell whether it’s day or night, but there’s a brightness that doesn’t feel quite natural around him. The island glows like a diamond in the middle. He thinks he can make out the glow of rocks that are actually precious stones, only a few of which are even named._

_Occasionally he looks back, but the shore has faded from sight long ago._

_There is just him, and the water all around, and the island that seems to move further and further away as he rows toward it._

 

Castiel dreams.

_The door to the church opens and Zophiel stands before him._

_“Hello brother” she whispers, her ruby lips curving into a warm smile._

_“Zophiel” he says, “Come with me..this place..this place isn’t safe”_

_“But first I have something to show you” she replies and reaches out for his hand._

_But when her hand clasps over his wrist, it’s suddenly a claw that’s got him in a vice like grip, and Zophiel’s face is changing, mutating, her porcelain skin turning into wrinkled bark, her mouth becoming wider, still ruby red, her eyes turning opaque._

_“Come with me, brother” she says, and her open mouth reveals Leviathan-like teeth, “let us make haste, for he will not wait”_

_Castiel struggles, but he cannot losen her grip, and the thudding of his heart and the panic in his veins makes it difficult to think._

_“I’m sorry,” he pleads “let me go, I’m sorry”_

_She grips him tighter and pulls him into the darkness, and he’s falling, falling-_

 

_\--and now he’s in a garden, where a single pomegranate tree stands in the centre, its fruit glowing gold. There’s a figure kneeling in front of it, head bowed, as though praying.  As Castiel approaches, hesitant, the figure says, without turning around “Why have you come, Castiel?”_

_“For you” he replies_

_Still the figure refuses to turn._

_“There is nothing left here” it says, and all around him the garden is changing suddenly, the grass beneath his feet turning to ash, the plants and trees withering in seconds. Only the tree stands green and gold._

_“Go away” says the figure, “Leave this place. GO!”_

 

 

He gasps awake in the backseat of the car. His left cheek feels sticky from where it’s been pressed against the faux leather upholstery and there’s a painful crick in his neck.

Raqib twists around to grin at him “Well, hello, Sleeping Beauty, was it the kiss of true love that finally woke _you_ up?”

Castiel swallows around his parched throat and shifts looking for a bottle of water instead of answering.

“We’re just a few miles out of town, there’s a motel up the road” says Israfel, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

Gulping down the water, he says “Fine”.

 

The tourist season is almost over, but they’re still lucky to find get a room. Israfel mentions to the chatty man at the reception that she’s got an interest in Native American history and local legends, and he’s more than happy to point her in the direction of particularly interesting sites. “Of course, we’ve got newer legends here..got one right here in our backyard”

“Is that right?”

“Reckon you folks wouldn’t have heard about it, but it was something of a miracle around these parts- or a warning, depending on whom you spoke to- plenty folks religious down here, so for a while there were people preparing for the end of the world- real estate got real cheap all of a sudden- if I’d had any money put by, I might’ve made a killing, but that’s neither here nor there now, seeing the world didn’t end after all. Not even close, apparently..”

“This sounds interesting, Rod” Israfel maintains her casual tone

“You could say that again..you remember the meteor showers around the world, about two years ago?”

“Sure” interjects Raqib, “ there was one pretty near our place too”

Castiel tries to quell him with a look.

“Well, the next morning? Pomegranate trees. All around.”

“Pomegranate trees sprung up overnight?”

“Yep, in every garden in the town, and some in the parks, and down by the lake- bang in the middle of some rocks too..”

“ _Really_ ”

“And that ain’t the end of it..they were full of fruit too..these golden coloured ones, I didn’t even know you could get pomegranates that colour..just goes to show..ain’t everything that glitters gold…things practically burnt up the mouths of everybody who tried to get a taste”

“Wow”

“Uh-huh”

“Then bam, they just start dropping, and maybe all disappear in a few days…the trees remained though and then they started _blooming_.  Some folks cut down the ones in their gardens though..guess they got freaked..still got mine, you should see it tomorrow morning..”

“Sure thing” grins Raqib “Wouldn’t want to miss a real live miracle in these days and times”

“No sir, you don’t” agreed Rod.

 

 

They’re all tired from the long drive and Castiel is grateful for that, in a way, because it means that Israfel and Raqib don’t question his decision to skip dinner, although Israfel does give him a sharp look and a raised eyebrow that he answers with a shrug and a half smile. 

As he lets –the mercifully hot water- ease the stiffness from his muscles, Castiel reflects that they’ve developed a language of their own, despite the short time they’ve known each other. Well, relatively short time. They’d never served together _before,_ although, they’d known each other in the way that they all did- before the time when they’d started _hiding_ things from each other, before the _doubts_ had begun to set in. Castiel wonders what, if anything, Israfel and Raqib think of their absent Father; whether they think of him at all. Despite the almost-easy way into which they’ve bound together now, there are still some subjects that they never broach; they rarely reminisce for one thing, which should be surprising, perhaps, given how their lost home is what has brought them together. But it’s still too raw within them, he acknowledges, and a small voice whispers, insidious, _perhaps they just don’t talk about it_ _with_ _you_. He tries to un-think that thought, it’s remarkable how _difficult_ that is with a _human_ brain, he tries concentrate instead on the water pressure _that’s fucking perfect Cas, I don’t know how the geezers did it, as a matter of fact, we still haven’t figured how we still have electricity and water here, it’s driving Sam nuts not knowing, but who cares, it’s like..magic, the good kind._

_It isn’t magic Dean, I would hazard a guess that its just a-stop right there Cas, just get in the fucking shower ok-and don’t tell Sam, it’s kinda fun to watch him stew-_

Castiel turns off the shower then, leans his head against the tiles, and sighs.

 

 

He lies awake in the dark, afraid, he admits, to close his eyes. He doesn’t want to dream of Zophiel…or the garden. But the human body, apparently, sometimes has a will all of its own and he finds himself unable to keep his eyes open.

 

When he wakes up, Israfel and Raqib are already dressed and were apparently headed out for breakfast.

“Wha..what time is it?” he asks, squinting against the sunlight streaming in from the windows, where Israfel has drawn open the  faded wine-red drapes.

“It’s nine a.m, your highness,” grins Raqib, “would you be interested in joining the land of the living today?”

Actually, _no_.

But he’d rather face the day than one of Israfel’s _bitchfaces_ , he thinks.

“I’ll join you in half an hour, where are you headed?”

“There’s a diner half a mile up”

“Ok”

When he finally gets downstairs, Rod calls out cheerily, “G’mornin! Sleep well, I take it”

“I did” Castiel replies, although he feels like his head is still particularly foggy.  He couldn’t remember what, if anything, he had dreamt. It all felt..foggy.

“Your friends checked out the tree before they left, you gonna take a look?”

Castiel nods, and follows Rod down a short corridor toward the back of the building.

 

 

It would be wrong, Castiel thinks, to say that the tree is _in bloom_. What it is, is _incandescent_ , the blossoms a mix of red and gold, turning their face to the sun.  He wonders what Israfel and Raqib made of this, if they felt, as he does now, their hearts twisting in their chest, a physical ache. Such beauty is not of this world, shouldn’t be _allowed_ for mortal eyes. He shuts his eyes for a moment against it, too overcome.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” says Rod, softly.

“She?” Castiel wonders.

“It..I don’t know..it doesn’t feel like an _it_..well, not, like a _thing_ anyway. I know some folks here still hold to the tradition that all living things have a _spirit_ , and I ain’t a spiritual man, but I can’t look at that tree and not believe that it may be true…”

Castiel nods.

“Are there places here where there’s a cluster of these? Or some houses that had more than one?”

“Strange that you ask that…well, it was pretty much scattered around, and except for one case, I never heard of more than one per house…but then, I wouldn’t put it past that kooky man to have tried to replant all the ones that were being cut…they couldn’t just saw through them, y’know? They had to pull them up by the root. I heard that ol’ Joe that stays by the lake, he asked for permission to replant them around his house- hut, really. Dunno why, he’d been going blind for a couple o’ years, I don’t think he can even _see_ these things..”

“Do you think he’d mind if we stopped by?”

“Nah, nothing ol’ Joe loves more than a chat, he got mighty quiet for a bit after his daughter passed, but now he’s got that niece of his staying with him, he’s pretty cheerful again..”

“She moved in after his daughter died?”

“Nah, not just after..actually we were all surprised that he had family, always thought it was just Joe and his little May…he doted on her..tragedy that’s what it was..just sixteen..she drowned in the lake..a freak swimming accident..she’d swum there since she was a child, reckon there wasn’t anybody in town who knew that lake like she did, regular water baby she was…I don’t know..they say she swam too far out, got cramps and couldn’t make it back…Joe..well, it broke him…he’d wander around the lake shore all times of day and night, calling out to her. It was awful. Then his niece turned up, quiet sort of thing too, but she seemed to have worked some magic on him, I reckon he thinks she’s his daughter now..now that you mention it, we first heard of her just when this whole tree thing was going down….he turned up with her in tow at the Masons down on Marvin St..asking whether they could take the tree, since the Masons wanted to get rid of it anyways…yeah, so, that’s how it got around, that ol’ Joe was _collecting_ the trees, the first we got to hear about that niece too..”

“Thanks Rod” Castiel says, as they head back in

“No problem, say hi from me, if you do head out that-a-way..just ask anybody for directions, everybody knows him..”

 

 

Unsurprisingly, Israfel and Raqib are already washing down their breakfast with coffee by the time Castiel reaches the diner. As they wait for the waitress to bring in his pancakes with honey, Raqib says quietly- “You saw it?”

Castiel nods.

Israfel asks “Do you have an idea who it might be?”

“No,” he replies, “but I think I know where we might find her”.

 

 

“Fuck” says Raqib, as they stare up the bluff toward Joe’s house. The house itself can barely be seen because of the explosion of bloom that surrounds it. The light breeze from the lake stirs the leaves and the flowers, and wafts a hard to identify scent toward them.

Raqib’s eyes start watering and Israfel is overcome by a fit of coughing, while Castiel himself feels his sight blurring, for no discernible reason.

 

“I don’t think we’re welcome” Israfel manages to sputter between heavy racking coughs that have her kneeling and gasping for breath.

Raqib’s covering his eyes with his palms, “fuck fuck fuck” is all he seems to be capable of saying.

Castiel shuts his eyes and with gathers all of his concentration to try and focus on the power that is emanating from the house, tries to _speak_ to it.

“Please” he thinks “Please. We don’t intend harm. We only want to talk.”

His brain is fogging over, and he finds it increasingly difficult to remember why they are here. Israfel & Raqib’s voices seem to be coming from very far away.

“I told you to turn back” a voice cuts through the fog in his head, and it’s both fire and ice, and it’s the voice from the garden “I warned you to stay away”

“ _Please_ ” he says again, “ _I beg you, sister_ ”.

 

Abruptly, it’s all gone.

Castiel feels as though a heavy blanket has been lifted off him.

He manages to open his eyes to see Israfel and Raqib struggling to their feet beside him.

“Are you alright?” he asks

“Fuck” says Raqib again, which, in this case, he thinks maybe a “yes” or a “getting there”.

He hands a bottle of water to Israfel.

They turn toward the sound of approaching footsteps.

A young woman approaches. Her hair is the first thing that Castiel notices- a deep, rich auburn swathe that cascades down her back. It frames a sharp-boned face, pale skin, with a smattering of freckles. She’s wearing a pair of faded blue jeans, ripped at the knees, and a t-shirt that shows off her tanned, freckled fore-arms.

They stare at each other, Castiel, Israfel and Raqib held in silence, while she looks at them appraisingly.

“Israfel” she says, “it’s been a long time”

“I suppose?” Israfel looks toward Castiel.

“And Raqib..still..charming”

Raqib flushes, something that Castiel would have laughed out loud at, in other circumstances.

“Sariel”, he says, quietly, and hears the sharply indrawn breaths the other two take.

“Castiel, Castiel” his sister shakes her head, “the proverbial bad penny.”

“I thought” she adds casually “that Zophiel would kill you.”

Instinctively, Israfel and Raqib step closer.

It makes Sariel smile.

“I have no intention of getting _more_ blood on my hands” she says, “relax.”

They don’t.

 

She shrugs.

“Well, now that you’re here, you might as well come in”.

She heads back up the path with a “follow me” gesture.

“Spider to the fly” mutters Israfel.

“I heard that” Sariel says, “That’s rude.”

Israfel catches Castiel’s eye and shrugs, as if to say, “I don’t care”

“Don’t antagonize her” he tries to communicate with his glare

“Too late” says Sariel.

 _Fuck_.

 

“Joe, this is- Israfel, Castiel and Raqib ” she says, as she ushers them into the tiny- hamlet.

“Everybody, this is Joe”

Joe turns toward them.

“She said we might have visitors” he says as he shuffles forward. “Come into the light, child, let me see you” he adds, to Israfel, who’s nearest him. She obediently moves toward the window so that he can study her there. “Your sister, she’s a little moody” he says, “don’t take anything she mighta said or done to heart”

“ _Thanks_ Joe” says Sariel, rolling her eyes.

Castiel and Raqib go through the same inspection, although he stares harder at Castiel than at Raqib.

Castiel wonders if Joe has _the sight_.

“I gave it to him” Sariel answers, “the night I practically burnt his eyes out.”

“I’d appreciate if you stopped the mind reading. It’s..rude.” Castiel says.

Israfel looks at him, her look clearly saying “And that’s how you _don’t antagonize_?”

“Chamomile tea, anyone?” asks Sariel “I find it soothing to the nerves”

 

“Zophiel contacted you?” asks Castiel as they sip tea from chipped china cups in a fading floral pattern.

“A little over a year ago” replies Sariel.”She wanted me to join her..she’s probably given you the short version, already, yes? World domination, blah, blah.”

“She might have missed out on stating that part explicitly” Castiel says dryly, “but it wasn’t hard to guess”

“She would have liked to have you on her side..all of you, of course, but you, in particular, I think”.

Castiel shrugs.

“But you’ve got a grand plan of your own, I guess? Does it also involve world domination? That seemed to be a favourite some years ago..”

He feels Israfel twitch beside him, but says calmly enough, “That was some years ago”

“You trust him?” Sariel says suddenly, to Raqib.

“Yes”, it’s said without hesitation, and Castiel feels a rush of affection for his _little brother_.

“To lead you into another war you cannot win? I admire your…loyalty.”

“I’m not _leading_ them” disavows Castiel.

“You’re damn right, you aren’t. That’s why you’re going to lose. Again.”

Israfel suddenly gets to her feet.

“I don’t think we have much to say here” she says, her voice taut.

Raqib gets to his feet too.

They both look at Castiel, who’s still sitting, staring at Sariel.

He gets to his feet, slowly.

“Every war needs a general or a saint” Sariel says. “You are neither, Castiel, and as long as you are trapped in your shame, you will _never be_.”

 

They leave the house on the bluff, the flowers surrounding it, consuming flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't..quite go where I expected it to. Nevertheless, I'm going to let it stand as-is. I'm hoping to write another chapter this week, but it may not be up until the weekend. Thank you all for reading!


	9. Blue Earth-1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of their meeting with Sariel, TFH hits the town of Blue Earth, Minnesota, led there by reports of some unusual events, even though there weren't any meteor showers reported in that area.

_It’s cold and dark. The only points of light are their swords as they fight.  There’s no way to measure how long. A time, times, and half a time. Enough for a star to begin its slow collapse into itself. Enough for Dean Winchester to be kidnapped by faerie and returned to Earth, forever marked._

_Castiel is exhausted. This is the end, perhaps. Some part of him thinks **good**. But he keeps fighting, because he is a soldier, because he does, after all, still have something to lose. His opponent is both cold and heat, dark and light, colour and its absence. _

_She knows Castiel is stretched to breaking point, she knows one last press of blade and it will be done._

_Surrender, she says, and I will have mercy._

_His family, Castiel thinks, has strange notions about mercy._

_They battle._

 

“Well, I suppose we could count that as another _lucky_ escape” says Israfel.

Castiel shakes his head.

“I know” says Israfel, sighing. “I can’t fathom why she would let us go”

“She let me..go..once before” he says, softly.

Israfel’s eyes flash to his, startled.

“When?”

“During the war with Raphael..Sariel had me cornered, alone. I was no match, not really.”

Sariel had been one of the fiercest captains in Michael’s garrison; Zophiel, another. The angels under Michael’s command had naturally gravitated toward Raphael, barring a few exceptions.

“And she let you go?”

“Her sword pierced my grace; a little deeper and it would have ended”

“Why did she stop?”

“I don’t know.”

 “Did Raphael find out?”

Castiel shrugs. “I imagine Sariel would not have survived, if he had”

“You think she’ll send Zophiel after us?”

“She would have already, if she’d wanted to” points out Castiel.

Israfel shoots him a glance.

“Neutrality is not the same as _alliance_ ”, she warns, “and Sariel…” she inhales deeply, but doesn’t finish.

 

Castiel knows they are all thinking the same thing.

 Pompeii.

That had been Sariel.

As had Sodom and Gomorrah.

And other cities, in other worlds.

Sariel was a _specialist_.

 

Sariel without her powers may have still been dangerous, but Sariel with her powers and a loose canon? 

Castiel feels the dread lodge in his stomach, accepts it with the familiarity of a long lost friend.  

He spares a glance at Raqib, but his brother is quiet- hasn’t said a word since they left Wahpeton- wrapped up in silence, staring out the window as they cross into Minnesota.

 

 

They halt at the town of Blue Earth; checking into a rather seedy motel.

Raqib dumps his bag at the foot of one of the beds, and says, “I’m getting a drink” and leaves, slamming the door on his way out.

Castiel makes a move to follow him out, when Israfel says “Leave him be”

“I’m not sure that’s wise” murmurs Castiel.

“You can’t babysit him” she says, dryly, as she sinks onto a bed, shoes and all, stares up at the ceiling.

Castiel follows suit.

“She was the captain on my first mission” Israfel says, softly. “To be honest, at the start, I didn’t know whether I was more terrified by her, or the thing that we set out to fight”

“What was it?”

“There’d been a breach of the border between Purgatory and Earth. This was..long before..well, anyways, things were beginning to crawl through. We’d already lost a couple. So a bunch of us were picked out, with Sariel and Shemuel in the lead.”

Castiel stirs beside her.

“It was….brutal. They were magnificent, both of them. You can’t imagine. And then..well, we knew, really, that the only way to end it would be to push them back in and seal it both from the inside and out, and there was only one thing in the world that could have been strong enough for that kind of binding.”

“An angel’s grace” Castiel’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, even to him.

“I suppose, I knew all along, it was a suicide mission for the rest of us. One of us would be the sacrifice, and that was _okay_. At least, I _thought_ it was. I might have even _hoped_ it would be me. I believed in the _glory_ of sacrifice. “

She laughs, a little, a shaky sound.

“But in that place, at that moment, all I could think of was how _I didn’t want to die_. And Sariel knew it, even as she started the chant for the binding.”

Castiel turns his face toward her, “It would have been unnatural if that thought hadn’t occurred to you”, he says, solemnly.

“I stepped forward to complete it” she says, choking a little, “I swear I did. But then..Shemuel..he _threw_ me aside, and jumped in, taking the last of them with him. I think it was the first and only time I ever saw Sariel hesitate, even for a fraction of a second. But then..”

“..she did what she had to do”

“Yes”

“I didn’t _understand_ it..I didn’t understand _why_ he would do that…for _me_? For a _nobody_? I felt..so _ashamed_ ; as though I had _failed_. Perhaps they had all sensed my fear. Perhaps he thought I couldn’t do it. I swear I would have. ” her voice shakes, “I swear I was going to.”

“I believe you” he whispers

“Why would he have done that?”

“Perhaps, he didn’t do it for _you_ ”

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps, he did it for _himself_.”

 

They lie there beside each other in silence for a few moments.

 

 “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re shit at comforting people?”

“A man named Job remarked on it once”

“Your jokes are not very funny either”

“I’ve been told that too”

She nudges at his side with an elbow and he shoves back.

 

Raqib doesn’t come back that night.

 

“It isn’t time to worry yet” says Israfel, as she takes a sip of her coffee.

“Mm-hmm”

“He survived Detroit, remember?”

“Mm-hmm”

“This coffee is terrible”

“Mm-hmm”

They linger over breakfast.

Castiel knows that they’re both hoping that Raqib would be back by the time they’re done.

 

 

The room is as empty as they’d left it.

“Is it time to worry yet?” asks Castiel

“By the time I’m done with him, he’ll wish he were in Purgatory” grits out Israfel.

“You don’t think Zophiel..” she adds, her worry seeping through her anger.

Castiel shakes his head, more to reassure himself than her.

“I think she’d have taken all of us..or at least let us know in some way if she had him”

“Yeah, you’re probably right, she seemed to have a thing for grand gestures, didn’t she?”

 

They freeze at the sound of someone fumbling with the lock.

They’ve both got their guns out and pointed at the door when it opens and a tall, dark man stumbles in, Raqib hanging like a dead weight off his shoulder.

They stay in that frozen tableau for a few seconds before the man stammers “Hey..hey..look, I was just getting this guy home, ok?”

“Sorry about that” says Israfel, as she slowly lowers her gun and Castiel does the same.

“Where did you find him?” asks Israfel

 “He came into the pub I work at last evening, and then proceeded to..well, drink a lot. I thought he’d left, but found him slumped outside the door when I was locking up.. couldn’t get him to wake up and didn’t wanna leave him there, so I just..well, took him up to my place to let him sleep it off.”

“How did you know where to bring him?”

“He had keys to this place in his pocket” says the man “I have to get to work, and he didn’t look like he was going to wake up..so, I decided to drive up here”

“Thank you..Mr…?” Israfel says as she shifts some of Raqib’s weight onto herself.

“Crane, you can call me Dan”

“Thank you, Dan” Israfel repeats as they set Raqib down on the nearest bed.

“Daniel”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” Castiel asks.

Israfel’s eyes widen.

“No, it’s just Dan” he replies, quietly. “And now, if you don’t mind, I have some place to be.”

He shuts the door behind him without a backward glance.  

 

“Is that..was that..you sure?”

“Yes”

“You think he doesn’t remember?”

“I think he does..he might not..”

“You think he _recognized_ you? _Us_?”

“I don’t know..he might have..probably.. _if_ he’s the one behind the healings”

 

 

They’d been travelling into Minnesota following a lead from Nathaniel.

 

“Nathaniel?” Cas had been surprised. He’d had no idea that Israfel kept in touch with Nathaniel.

“Is he thinking of joining us? You’re persuasive..”

“Persistent”, Israfel had smiled back. “And yeah, I keep in touch. One does that y’know, with friends and family.”

Castiel had felt himself flush.

 

Ok, so perhaps he’d called Dean and Sam immediately after Zophiel, and then once they’d reached Wahpeton, and maybe he’d made Raqib pull over once on their way to Blue Earth, because _the signal is crap Cas, pull over can’t hear you over the noise from that noisy Wagner or whatever  you have on all the time_ , _jeez, do you guys have a problem with normal music_ , but it was important to let them know that they might be in danger, and not just from Zophiel. He hadn’t thought it would be that _noteworthy_.

 

Apparently, Nathaniel had some contacts, from the earlier days still, and he’d rustled some of them up after reading in the paper about a couple of people who’d claimed they’d been miraculously healed- one gunshot wound, two accident victims. The “healer” in all the cases had been described as “a tall, dark man, late thirties”.  Nathaniel’s contacts had managed to come up with more “miracles”, mostly in and around Blue Earth.  All of them involved healing, and the miraculous appearance of a stranger – who then disappeared just as fast.

 

There had never been any reports of meteor showers in that area, but, as Raqib pointed out- “We got legs, man, people move, right?”

 

 

“Well, we aren’t going anywhere until Sleeping Beauty here wakes up” sighs Israfel.

Castiel bends down and checks his pulse.

He looks up to see Israfel watching him with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s steady” he says, “he’s just sleeping”

“I’d already assumed that” she says

He shrugs, a little defensive. “I just thought it would be wise to check”

 

 

When he wakes up late in the afternoon, Raqib is surprisingly clear headed.

Clear-headed and grumpy.

“Save me the lecture” he says, the moment he takes in Israfel’s stance. “You too, fearless leader.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything” avers Castiel, entirely untruthful.

Raqib rolls his eyes, and locks himself in the bathroom.

 

“I am going to kill him myself” remarks Israfel cheerfully, after forty five minutes.

Castiel knocks on the door.

“Get out here, Raqib, we have work to do” he says.

Raqib emerges after another fifteen.

 

“How did I get here?” he asks

“You were brought in by a bartender/ angel”

Raqib grins cheekily.

“Guess I’ve already done my share of the job then”

“You had us worried” reprimands Castiel “We thought you might be in danger”

Raqib has the grace to look faintly ashamed.

“I just..” he shrugs, walking to the window and looking out.

“I just needed..” he shrugs again, his lips twisting, a bitter expression crossing his face.

“I know” says Castiel.

Needed to _forget_.

Needed to _remember_ what it felt like.

 _Flying_.

The unspoken words hang in the air between them.

 

“So, really, who was it?”

“The bartender at the place you got drunk last night. Castiel thinks it’s Daniel.”

“The tall one?”

“Presumably there weren’t two tall bartenders there”

“And he’s the one behind the healings?”

Israfel shrugs.

“Unless we have two bona fide miracles in this town”

“So what’s the plan, go meet him up at the pub tonight?”

“You think he’s gonna show?”

“We’ve got to take the chance..it’s not like we have any other solid leads, either”

 

Over a late lunch, they discuss Daniel.

“I didn’t know him well” says Israfel.

“One of Zachariah’s, wasn’t he?”

Castiel nods. “I think so.”

“Well, makes sense he wouldn’t want to talk to _you_ ”

“Did he say anything to you? At the pub last night?”

“Not that I can recall” Raqib shrugs. “I think he might have refused to serve me”

“You’re lucky it was him” comments Castiel “Another person may not have been so helpful”

“Point taken, _mom_ ” snarks Raqib, and mutters “ _Jeez_ ”

 

The pub is just beginning to fill when they enter.

Daniel isn’t anywhere to be seen, so Raqib asks the other bartender – a pretty, petite, blonde girl- about his whereabouts.

“His shift doesn’t start until later, like two _hours_ later” he reports back.

He slaps Castiel on the back, “Lets make ourselves comfortable”

Fifteen minutes later, Raqib is chatting up the pretty bartender, leaving Israfel and Castiel nursing their drinks in one of the booths.

“He’s very charming” she observes

Castiel shakes his head, ruefully. “I don’t know how you manage it..”

“Manage what?”

“This..” he says, “this _ease_ with people”

“ _You’ve_ improved”

Castiel chuckles, “I suppose..I just still feel…”

“Alien”

Castiel nods.

“You know what you need?”

“What?”

“Practice”

Castiel scowls “I’ve practiced”

“I bet the Winchester boys were always around to fish you out though…or hide behind”

He opens his mouth to protest, but then realizes the truth of it.

Israfel looks smug.

Then she gets up but pushes him back into the seat when he makes to follow her.

“Na-uh. You sit here”

“Where are you going?”

Israfel’s smile may be _mischievous,_ he thinks.

“To _practice”_ she says, and heads off in the direction of a rather handsome man who’s been sitting alone at the bar for a while.

“We’re working here” he protests to her retreating back.

She pretends not to hear him.

 

“It’s not very nice of your friends to leave you alone”

The voice startles him out of the contemplation of the Sudoku he’d been working on. He doesn’t often come across puzzles that challenge him, but this one is good. He will solve it in approximately 2 minutes, a 100% improvement on all the others.

The voice belongs to a tall, fair haired man with light grey eyes and  a friendly smile.

“My friends and I have a game of pool going on there, wanna join us?” he says “The stakes aren’t too high”

“I’m very good” says Castiel truthfully, “It might ruin your fun”

The man chuckles at that, “Well, I reckon we’ll take our chance” .

Holding out his hand, he adds, “I’m William”

“Castiel” he replies, shaking the proferred hand

“That’s an unusual name”

“I had unusual parents” he replies, having learnt by now how to deal with this.

“Well, come on over, Castiel” William grins at him, “let’s see how good your game is.”

 

Castiel has only played pool before with Dean and Sam. Dean had installed a table in the bunker, and set out with glee to teach Castiel the game. To his utter (and badly concealed) chagrin, Castiel had mastered it within minutes. He was only slightly mollified when Sam pointed out that Cas would be a real asset to their _team_.

“I refuse to use my superior skill to cheat unsuspecting civilians” Castiel had said, primly.

Dean had rolled his eyes, “Fine, go find honest work to keep you fed then”.

That had _stung_ , Castiel admitted.

So, yes, sometimes when they went out, it would be Cas and Sam instead of Dean and Sam _working the crowd_. It had taken him some effort to learn to conceal his skill until the right moment.

 

William introduces his companions, one of whom is his sister, Gabrielle, a tall blonde who might be his twin, but is actually three years younger. The other is Gabrielle’s boyfriend Craig, a stocky man, with dark hair and a shy smile. So it’s William and Castiel against Gabrielle and Craig. He tries to conceal how _easy_ this is for him; in his experience nobody likes being run over when they’re out to have fun. William is good, but erratic; Craig is an excellent shot, but that is balanced by Gabrielle who is really _bad_ , Castiel is sorry to note. They settle remarkably easily into conversation during the game. Castiel knows that William is curious about him, but he has learnt even better in the last two years how to evade without lying outright. He tries to keep the conversation around techniques and William seems to be eager to learn, happy to have Castiel demonstrate how his stance could be improved, or how he should angle his wrist.

 

When Israfel walks over to their table after an hour, he’s surprised to realize how much time has passed. She gives a negative shake of her head to his raised eyebrow. Daniel isn’t in yet.

“Finished with your practice?” he smirks, after he introduces her to the others (“My sister, Israfel”, “You weren’t kidding about your parents”)

“Turns out he had a wife waiting for him, a fact he neglected to mention at first, I might add”

Castiel frowns.

She pats his hand, “Don’t worry”

 

Craig takes time out, so Israfel joins Gabrielle “to even the odds”. Soon it’s just Israfel and Castiel playing, while William and Gabrielle gape at them, and they’ve even managed to get a crowd around them. Castiel thinks he can make out Raqib taking bets in the periphery of his vision, but he’s enjoying himself too much to care. Playing against Israfel, playing against an _equal_ , again, is a buzz that is lighting up his insides far more effectively than any alchohol could. They play faster, each aiming, strategizing to not just get their shots, but also to make the board more difficult for the opponent. It’s _fun_.

When they finally call it quits, Israfel has beaten him by a single point, but he thinks the slight smarting of his ego might be worth it, because her glee (and Raqib’s- apparently he’d bet on _her_ ) fills him with joy.  And there’s William’s open admiration bordering on awe to soothe that little hurt, and Castiel lets himself bask in it for a moment.

 

After dinner (pizza and more beer), Gabrielle and Craig head home, pleading work blues. William is a freelance photographer,  so he “doesn’t have to live life by someone else’s clock”, so there’s just the four of them now- or rather, since Israfel and Raqib have each made excuses to leave the table hurriedly, in a move that even _Castiel_ recognizes as unsubtle, there’s just the two of them.

Castiel follows Raqib with his eyes, to where he’s headed back to the bar. Daniel should be in already, he realizes with a sudden start, and sure enough, he can make out his tall figure already serving some customers. He should back Raqib up, he thinks, in case Daniel makes a run for it.

But William is saying something, so Castiel snaps his attention back to the table.

“He’s special to you?”

“Raqib?” Castiel echoes, surprised. “Yes, yes, we’re close.”

He hasn’t attempted to introduce Raqib as his sibling since the incident in Indiana.

“Ah” William sounds both surprised and a little bit disappointed.

It takes Castiel a moment to realize why.

“He’s just a friend” he finds himself saying, even as he wonders why he’s clarifying. The smarter move would have been to let William assume that Raqib and he were more than friends.

But the way William’s expression relaxes quells any regret he has.

“I’m glad” William says “I wasn’t sure I was ready to fight him for you yet. He looks like he could pack a mean punch.”

Castiel flushes a little, and stumbles “There would have been no fighting, I’d have made sure” and then flushes some more when William’s grin widens.

“I don’t mean, I didn’t mean..” he avers, suddenly finding it hard to meet William’s amused smile.

“Is this the part where you try to let me down gently?” he asks, softly.

For a moment, Castiel thinks, _why not_.

But he knows _why not,_ and the long list of reasons only _begins_ with the fact that Raqib and Daniel are already in a conversation, and the list may include a rather infuriating man with calloused hands and viridian eyes.

Something of this must show clearly in his face, because William chuckles.

“It’s alright, Castiel, I’m a big boy, I can take it.”

“I’m only here in town for a day or two” says Castiel and then thinks _how stupid_ , it wasn’t like William was asking for a _lifetime._

“Is there someone waiting for you back home?”

Castiel feels his throat tighten up, all of a sudden.

“I don’t know” he answers, honestly, “but I hope so.”

William shrugs, “Must be something, for you to hold on to a dream”

“You’re very nice” Castiel says, earnestly, because it’s true, and in another time, another place, maybe he would have gone home with the nice man with the kind grey eyes and the ready laughter. Castiel can still see the auras around humans, can still see beyond the masks they wear, and William’s heart is generous and loving, and, he can see, very lonely. It makes something in Castiel ache in recognition.

But William is already getting to his feet, clearly wanting to get out of there now.

“It was nice meeting you guys” he says, just as Israfel joins them. He shakes hands with her and then with Castiel, and if his hand lingers a bit longer than a typical handshake, Castiel doesn’t mind.

 

 

After William leaves, Israfel says “Please tell me that wasn’t a goodbye-goodbye”

Castiel replies noncommittally  “We have work to do”.

“All work and no play makes Castiel a dull boy”

Castiel smiles ruefully at her. “I’m extremely dull” but he can see she’s not fooled.

However, all she says is, “Lets go stop Raqib from screwing it up”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another chapter that's gotten out of hand, so to speak, and I felt it was better to break at the point I did. I hope to have part II up by Tuesday; re: the rest of the updates, I guess I'm not sure if it's going to be twice a week, or once a week. RL is getting a little too much in the way, and ugh, plotting shenanigans are keeping me awake. How it will all come together is a mystery to me, at this point!  
> As always, reviews are luuuuurve! Thank you for reading!


	10. Blue Earth- II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raqib has a lunch date. Feelings and pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events of this chapter overlap a little bit from the previous one, and then move forward. It's told from Raqib's POV, rather than Castiel's. Hope you enjoy it!

Daniel is serving up some drinks when Raqib makes his way back to the bar, so he takes the opportunity to study his sibling. Daniel’s movements are efficient, as though he’d been doing this for decades, instead of what must only be a few months, at most. He’s clearly at ease with the people who come in, some of whom are obviously regulars. Regardless, Daniel seems to have a joke and conversation for everyone. Raqib wishes he could remember more of the previous evening. Had Daniel recognized him immediately? Had he hesitated before speaking with him?

He tries to get his attention now, but Daniel- “Dan” and “Danny boy” now- seems determined to ignore him. Raqib isn’t fazed by that; nobody can avoid him forever. So he contents himself with ordering another beer for the moment, which Carl, the other bartender on this shift gets him, grinning, “I’m going to have to cut you off after another two max”

“I’m not feeling the love this evening, Carl” Raqib complains

“No can do, bro, under orders. Seems he found you wasted and half frozen outside last night” Carl adds, nodding toward Daniel.

Raqib blushes a little.

“He was real nice to me, got me home safe”

Carl’s smile turns fond, “Yeah, he’s a good guy”

“Been here long?”

“Umm..let me see..no, actually, just about six months? Feels like he’s been there forever tho..real hit with the folks here”

Carl turns away to talk to another couple at the bar, and Raqib checks to see where the other two are. Israfel is nowhere in sight, but William and Castiel seem to be having a fairly intense conversation.

Raqib smirks inwardly.

Perhaps their fearless leader was going to get lucky tonight.

It had been amusing to watch William flirt with Castiel, while the latter remained oblivious. For someone remarkably astute, Castiel could really be _blind_ , Raqib thinks.

He himself, of course, had taken to all the pleasures this body could offer like the proverbial duck to water. And sometimes, just sometimes, it is _enough_ , for that moment. He can appreciate that.

He’s lost in the contemplation of the vagaries of his current existence, so he’s startled when Daniel’s voice interrupts his reverie.

“I thought I’d made it clear I wasn’t interested in furthering our..acquaintance” he says, in a low voice.

“I just wanted to say thank you” Raqib replies, “and I know Castiel and Israfel wanted to as well. Just that.”

Daniel’s eyes flick back toward the booth.

“Fine. Accepted. You can leave now.”

“Let me buy you a drink..show my appreciation” Raqib adds hastily.

Daniel raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t drink on the job” he says

“Later then”

“At 2 am?” Daniel snorts, “That’s when I get off”

“Lunch then, tomorrow”

Daniel chuckles, despite himself, Raqib can tell, and counts it a small victory.

“You’re like an annoying puppy”

“Much less prone to chew your slippers” he offers

He holds his breath while Daniel seems to think about it.

“Ok,” he says finally, “I’ll meet you at noon , there’s a place called Maxine’s, corner of  7th & Nicollet Street.”

He looks again toward the booth and then back at Raqib. “Just you.”

Raqib nods. “I’ll be there”

“And that’s the last one for you tonight”

Raqib scowls at him, which only makes Daniel chuckle as he walks away.

 

 

Castiel and Israfel join him then, and Israfel asks “Well, did you manage to piss him off yet?”

“I have a lunch appointment with him tomorrow, I’ll have you know”

Castiel’s eyes light up “That’s great Raqib” he says warmly

“Just me though..he doesn’t want to talk to either of you”

 _Really_ , Raqib thinks, _Castiel has got the wounded puppy look down pat_. He should really take lessons.

It’s Israfel who answers, “Well, that’s better than being sent away altogether.”

Castiel nods in agreement, and attempts a smile.

“I’ll bring him around” Raqib states, even as he wonders what it is about Castiel that makes him want to make foolish promises that he has very little chance of fulfilling. What it is about him that makes Raqib want to _do better_ , _be better_.

Castiel places a warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly, and favours him with one of his small smiles. “I’m sure you will.”

Perhaps it’s that, Raqib thinks to himself, as they clear their tab and head out, perhaps it’s _that_.

 

 

According to Israfel, Castiel and she will be out doing “tourist-y things” while Raqib sets out for his lunch date. Daniel is already seated at a table when he gets there.

 

 It’s a small place, just about half a dozen tables, with the kind of gaily patterned table cloths that always make Raqib feel slightly ill in their determined cheerfulness. It’s just the beginning of lunch hour, so the real “rush” hasn’t yet started, he guesses. There’s an executive-type man digging into a salad two tables down, and a young lady with a toddler and a dozen shopping bags occupying another.

Daniel is chatting with a waitress, but looks up to wave him over as he enters. The waitress- a portly, middle aged woman with flyaway grey hair smiles at him as he seats himself. “It isn’t often Dan here brings a friend”

“Raqib, this is Mary” Dan introduces them, “Every dish she makes would put the Rachael Rays of this world to shame”

“Oh you,” Mary swats him lightly on the shoulder, but looks flattered nonetheless.

They order the specials.

“So you come here often”

“It’s a short walk from work…my day job is at the Community Library, just two blocks away”

“What do you do there?”

“Well, some odd jobs, here and there, but they were happy enough to take me on as a part time librarian when they realized that I could, in fact, _read_ ”

Raqib nods, and finds that he’s suddenly tongue-tied; this man is his brother, he thinks, but he is also a stranger. This _man_ and he share a unique history, but across the table sits someone he might have passed by without a second glance.

“Whereabouts did you..land?” asks Dan

“Detroit” he replies

“Tough luck”

Raqib shrugs, “I landed..on my feet, so to speak”

“Yeah? Two nights ago, it didn’t seem that way”

He meets Daniel’s eyes, feels a resentment boil up in him, because for some unknown reason the man opposite him _gets to keep it_ , the man opposite him is not _human_ , not in ways that he’s _forced_ to be, and it’s _unfair_ , and _crappy_ , and…

He swallows and forces out “Some days are stone” and then, before he can stop himself, he asks, “Do you still have them?”

Daniel doesn’t pretend ignorance.

“Yes” he says softly, “but I can’t..fly very far”

“Just to some local accident sites”

Daniel shrugs.

“Do you sense them?”

“I invested in a police scanner..what?”

“Angel radio not good enough?”

“I didn’t want to show up on the radar.”

“That may have been a wise choice” Raqib says dryly.

At Daniel’s inquiring frown, he gives him an edited version of their meeting with Zophiel.

Daniel’s face hardens as he hears the story. “Apparently, there’s no lack of madness in our gene pool” he comments.

Raqib snorts.

“You could say that”.

 

“How did you get _here_?”

Mary brings their dishes just then, so Daniel waits before he replies, “The usual methods- trains and buses, and one really really tedious ride with a trucker from Tofte to Duluth”

“How did you find me?”

“We’ve been working from reports on the “meteor shower”..just..taking our chances, for most parts, I guess”

“You go looking for them?”

“They came for me”

“Huh”

“These potatoes are really good”

“Yeah, she’s gifted”

“So..Tofte?”

Daniel puts down his fork, looks out the window.

“Near abouts. I think I caused the first earthquake in a quarter century there”

“Yeah?”

“What about you?”

“Apparently, I was the freak snow storm in spring”

“How did you..”

“Someone found me, I guess, I don’t know, exactly…took me to a hospital. I never managed to find out who it was..”

Daniel nods. “They surprise you sometimes”

At Raqib’s inquiring look, he clarifies “With their _kindness_ ”

There was truth in that, Raqib acknowledged, even though, that one charitable act performed by a stranger had been followed by a hundred cruelties heaped by others. But even then, the truth was, there was some good left in the world, sometimes where you least expected it.

“I got lucky”

Daniel inhales deep.

“Landed in a forest, a few meters from what I later found out had been an abandoned loggers cabin. I..when I hit ground, I tried to hold on to some mortal form, tried to _contain_ myself….but I _couldn’t_..I was burning one minute, freezing the next, scattering in the third. Reforming and shattering, in what I thought would be an endless cycle. It was _agony_.”

Raqib nods silently, not trusting his voice.

“Eventually..I don’t know after how long..I _settled_. When I came to, I was lying naked on the forest floor, an old woman bent over me. How she got me into the cabin, I don’t know- half dragged, half carried me there, I suppose.  I was burning up, delirious, she told me, later. She was one from an ancient people, one who knew certain things, spells, magic, lore- and she used her knowledge to attempt to heal me. Some of it, I suppose,  was done by what was left of my Grace. “

“She knew what you were..are?”

“Among her people, they call us manidoo, although that is a more generic name they apply to a whole host of beings. But no, she wasn’t..how shall we put it- incredulous.”

“So you stayed on with her?”

“When I finally recovered, I was weak, very weak. She took care of me. It was a few weeks before I could even speak. When I recovered my strength, I tried to help her. She earned a tiny living by handcrafting wooden figurines and selling them in Tofte and other towns, for the tourist market.  I went with her, familiarized myself, slowly with this..place. Her own son had been killed in war, twenty years ago; I suppose she came to consider me a replacement. She had a gift too- healing, although she didn’t do it in the way you and I can-could. Hers was more based on lore and knowledge of herbs and medicines. What could be gathered from the earth.”

“Why did you move here then?”

“Six months ago, she died in her sleep. I..you know, I could see the Reaper, but I had no power over her….and anyway, I think _she_ wouldn’t have wanted to tarry. It would have been selfish of me to try. “

He sighs.

“After that..there was nothing to keep me there; and by that time, I had mostly learnt the limits of my…well, powers, I guess. It was tempting though- to stay there, in that little space I had managed to create for myself.”

“I got lucky” he repeats, softly.

“What about you?”

Raqib thinks back to the first weeks, the disorientation, the hunger, the itch of his phantom limbs, that hasn’t faded even now.

“It wasn’t easy” he says “Took a while. Learnt to scrounge for scraps. Money. These fuckers, the things they do for scraps of paper.  Discovered cheap liquor. And sex. That, at least, was a _good_ thing to discover.”

Raqib attempts a laugh.

Daniel smiles but says nothing.

 

Mary comes by, “Anything else sugar?”

“I’m ok, thanks” he replies, “Anything for you?”

“Do you have any pie?”

“Sure do, hon. Apple, peach, key lime. What would you like?”

“I’ll start with a slice of the peach”

Daniel huffs a laugh.

“Start?”

Raqib shrugs, “Hey, I like my pie”

“I’ll be right back with it”

 

“So Castiel and Israfel tracked you down?”

Raqib nods.

“Why?”

Raqib hesitates.

“We..we think that, if we manage to get some of us together, there might be a way to..find our way back”

Daniel snorts disbelieving.

“I can’t believe _he_ sold you on this _again_ ”

“It’s not like that”

“Isn’t it?”

“Do _you_ want to be stuck here? Like.. _this_? In a no-man’s land between mortal and something _more_?” Raqib drops his voice, but speaks fiercely. “Because I _don’t_.”

“ _You_ may have got _lucky”_ he adds, “but the rest of us? Not so much. So yeah, even if there’s a sliver of a chance of getting back, I’m going to _take_ it!”

Raqib finds that the words won’t be held back, pouring out of him. Somewhere, a dam is breaking, and he’s the debris that’s being carried in its wake.

“And how long do you think you’re going to stay _lucky_? It’s going to fade, you know it is, and then, _then_ you’ll be stuck in the _mud_ , just like the rest of us, with _nothing_ left of yourself, except your _memories_. And don’t think those won’t _hurt_. That time will _heal_.”

 

 

“Everything alright hon?”

They hadn’t noticed Mary’s return, and she looks between them, concerned.

“We’re good” Daniel says quickly, flashing a smile and Raqib recovers enough to say “That looks delicious.”

She smiles, at sets it down in front of him, and steps back crossing her hands in front of her.

He chuckles, and carefully cuts into it, taking a generous helping.

The flavour bursts on his tongue, delicate, _perfect_.

He closes his eyes against it.

 _Well_ , then.

When he opens them again, both Mary and Daniel are grinning at him.

He may have made some embarrassing noises, he thinks.

“You” he says, licking off the remains on the fork, “are a goddess among us.”

“And no,” he adds, when Daniel reaches forward with a fork, “get your own.”

Mary chuckles, “There’s one coming your way, hon”

Daniel watches, amused, as Raqib tucks into it with a fervour that some save for religious occasions.

“So-sex and pie?”

“Mm-hmm” Raqib acknowledges, “And the movies. That too.”

Daniel laughs aloud.

Mary comes back with an extra large slice of pie.

“On the house”

At Daniel’s surprise, she pats him gently on the shoulder and gives him a warm smile.

 

Raqib may be a little envious about how Daniel seems to have collected _friends_.

He studies him covertly- Daniel looks to be in his late twenties, a chiseled face, severe, even, but softened by the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. Dark eyes that light up when he’s amused.

Daniel catches his eye and pauses, his fork midway to mouth, his look inquiring.

Raqib says, “You seem to make friends easily”

Daniel smiles, an easy smile, no wonder he draws people in. 

“I make the effort” he says. “It’s not as difficult as one would imagine.”

“I guess I haven’t quite learnt the art”

“And here I was thinking you’re quite the charmer”

Raqib shrugs.

“So you really don’t want..if there was a chance, you wouldn’t go back?”

Daniel sighs.

“What is it you think is awaiting you there, Raqib?”

Raqib frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…this notion of.. _home_. This promised land. What do you think happens when you return?”

“You mean, I suppose, it’ll be more chaos..more fighting”

“I mean, there’s no going back.”

Raqib’s face tightens.

“Oh, I don’t mean- physically- to put it in that way- I mean there’s no going back- even if you restored your grace, even if you reclaimed it from that lunatic- there’s no going back, not really.”

“Things can change, for the better”

“Perhaps- but the point is- they’ll change. They’ll change because _you’ve_ changed. Even though, here, you’re clinging to – the remnants of that old life with all you’ve got- that place, that _particular_ place that is _home_ \- that is _gone_.”

Raqib feels a tightness squeezing his chest, making it impossible to speak.

Daniel reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder. “Think on it, before you cast yourself into this”. 

They sit  in silence until Mary brings the check.

 

Outside, Daniel says, “Walk with me, I’ll show you where I work”

Raqib nods.

He fishes out a smoke and offers one to Daniel, who takes it.

“I hear these things kill”

“I’ll take my chances”

They walk in silence, each lost in their thoughts.

 

“What is your earliest memory?” Daniel asks suddenly.

Raqib thinks for a bit, “Light, I guess.”

Angels are born in light, each knowing their name, and being known, in turn.

“Yours?”

“Something like that- and my sword”

He glances at Raqib, “I’ve always been a soldier”

“As have I”

Daniel nods.

“Before- I never questioned it, never doubted whether that was all I was meant to be-we..we are not..”

Raqib knows what he’s trying to articulate.

“I don’t know if I want to fight anymore- and for what? For _whom_? A Father whom I never knew? Or _worse_ , because it’s the only thing I know to do?”

Raqib feels ill equipped to answer his brother. I wish Castiel were here, he thinks, fleetingly.  Or Israfel. They’d know what to say.

“It _is_ your choice, Daniel” he says, finally, “I’m just letting you know you have one.”

Daniel gives him one of his sweet smiles. “Thank you” and it’s sincere, Raqib can tell.

 

They say goodbye in front of the library.

Raqib scrawls a number on the back of a napkin he'd picked up, and says, "Call if you change your mind. Or just, y'know, call."

 

As he walks toward the nearest bus station, Raqib’s mind wanders back to Daniel’s earlier question.

_What is your earliest memory?_

_Light._

It’s true, Raqib thinks, but not the whole truth.

For a brief, ecstatic moment, he had also felt Love.


	11. Miracle Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TFH visits a ghost town in Colorado, and there are more miracles than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire work is un-betaed, so all the terrible writing, poor choice of verbs, inconsistent grammar and terrible spelling may be laid at my door. Feel free to point out all my faults in the comment space. :)

“Where next?”

“Granite, Colorado” replies Israfel, with a quick glance at Castiel, as if for confirmation, although he knows she doesn’t need it. It’s not like they have many more stops, something that neither Israfel nor he has spoken about, but Castiel knows that they are both thinking about.

They are going to Granite, Colorado, because in the summer of _that year_ , three weeks to the date when locals reported a meteor streaking through the sky, a gaggle of teenagers had gone “exploring” in one of the long abandoned and _empty_ tunnels that dotted the hills nearby and found themselves nearly blinded by the radiance within. They’d find later that it wasn’t just gold, but sapphire, emerald, beryl, chrysolite, topaz, jacinth, sardonyx, jasper, carnelian and some stones that had no names yet- the walls and the roof and the floor- they _shone_ and _cut_ – slicing through the feet of Amanda Paulson, 15, who had chosen, that day, to wear flip flops instead of sneakers, and _burnt_ the palm of Luke Masters, 16, who had, slack-jawed reached out to _touch_ and immediately yelled in agony, his skin blistering. At least, this had proven fairly definitively that they weren’t all having a collective hallucination induced by various substances imbibed earlier, although all of them also reported later that the _heat_ and the _light_ seemed to do strange things to their vision and hearing; in fact, Peter Marks, the oldest of the lot, at 19, found his ears assaulted by “this high pitched screaming- not even screaming- a whine y’know- static-ky, but sharp, or like nails down a blackboard, only amplified by a thousand and before I knew it, my ears were bleeding”- but none of the others heard a sound, although Mary Watts, 16, did mention that she found the heavy silence that seemed to blanket her mind as oppressive and painful as Marks’ experience.  Having stumbled out, and when they could speak again, they debated whether to report what they had found; the reason for debate being a reluctance among some members of the party to reveal to their parents what they were doing down in the tunnels, when they were technically supposed to be staying over at each other’s houses. Finally they’d decided to keep quiet about it, and tend to their own wounds.

Of course, as is the case with teenagers, somebody went online, and it was another three weeks before Krissy was giving Dean a call, saying, _you heard about this? Do you think it’s trouble?_ And Dean had pursed his lips and frowned, and said, “Well, doesn’t look like _anything_ survived that we need to kill”. Castiel had nodded, feeling his stomach fill with a leaden weight, and avoided Dean for the rest of the day.

The secret mine didn’t stay secret for long, and eventually there’d been a minor media frenzy- in which the formerly recalcitrant teenagers had participated with enthusiasm.  Now the tunnel- and many of the surrounding tunnels and mines- was cordoned off while an appropriately obscure branch of the U.S Federal Govt investigated the sudden geological bounty. Granite and the other “ghost towns” had briefly enjoyed an upsurge in tourist traffic, but with no possibility of actually seeing the “miracle mines”, that had quickly died down, and today the tourist demographic was mostly the same as the “pre-miracle” days- whitewater rafting enthusiasts.

 

 

_Granite, Colorado._

Castiel had stared a long time at the map that day, the day Krissy had called. Because about 16 miles north of Granite, Colorado was Leadville, Colorado, home, for a period of six months to a certain Emmanuel and Daphne Allen.

He’d visited her once, in that brief period of freedom that insanity allowed him- somewhere between that trip to the dog races and freeing those monkeys from that disgusting “research lab”. He’d gone to her, he remembers, because she’d loved honey, and also he’d wanted to tell her about France. She had lots of old French records from the mid-twentieth century and she would play them on Sundays while she made an elaborate lunch.

 She danced in the kitchen, alone, sometimes, and once, she’d made him dance with her; laughing at his shuffles, and his stiff posture, but not unkindly, never unkindly.

 

It hadn’t been a French song that greeted him that day though.

 

  _Bach, he identifies, another favorite._

_There’s a red sauce simmering on the stove and potatoes in the oven._

_She turns at the sound of him, surprised into stillness, but an unafraid kind._

_“Hello” he says “I’ve brought you something”_

_She puts her mitts down on the table, and smiles at him, raising an eyebrow “Have you?”_

_“It’s honey” he says, holding out the packet. “Straight from the hive”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Don’t worry, I asked them permission, before I took any. It would have been rude not to.”_

_“I’m glad you asked” she replies, equally serious._

_“The potatoes are burning”_

_She whips around to rescue them, and he stands there, still, in the doorway._

_She throws him a look over her shoulder, as she bends to take out the potatoes from the oven._

_“C’mon in then, burnt potatoes for dinner”_

_“Thank you” he says, and feels something lighten in his heart as he steps in._

_She doesn’t ask where he’s been- she doesn’t need to- because he’s telling her all about Perth and France and the Himalayas, and and and and-_

_When he feels unable to draw another breath, she places her hand over his shaking one, and just like that, he feels grounded, for a moment, for the space of a heartbeat. He inhales, a noisy, rattling sound, says “I’m an angel”, doesn’t meet her eyes._

_“I know” she says, quietly._

_“How?” he looks at her._

_She shrugs._

_“I got rid of the TV the day I found you, but before that? Yeah, I used to watch the news. You left quite an impression.”_

_“You knew..and you took me in?”_

_“I see things” she said, “things that others don’t always see”_

_He looks at her again, really looks at her._

_How had he missed it before?_

_She squeezes his fingers gently._

_“You were sent to me” she says, “I believe that”_

_He shakes his head, no, no, NO._

_He didn’t deserve it, he’d never deserved it._

_“Castiel” she says, lifting her arm now, to stroke her knuckles down his cheek, so soft, so gentle, that  he thinks he might collapse under the weight of it, scatter even more._

_So he runs again._

 

 

There’s little waiting for them in the town. A day spent in casual enquiries yields no results, even though Raqib meets Peter Marks, chances upon him grabbing coffee at the deli. Peter is surprisingly unwilling to talk about it at all now, rushing away before Raqib can say much to him. Later, they find out, from Bess, who’s waiting on them at the local watering hole. “Poor Peter. Something happened to him that night, maybe it was the fright, y’know? These things happen. Kept saying he could _hear_ things. Apparently, when Doc Weston down at the clinic asked him to write down the things he was hearing, all he wrote were some gibberish words. T’weren’t even _English_. Got better with some medication, I think, but y’know how it is, it’s a small town, people talk, and look at him queer, y’know?”

Israfel nods sympathetically, and after Bess leaves their table, says quietly, “Do you think we should try talking to him again?”

“Seems our best lead” agrees Raqib

 “Perhaps it’s better if Israfel approaches him”

“Yes, I think so” she agrees.

 Raqib scowls at the both of them, says “I’m turning in for the night” and abruptly leaves the table.

Castiel raises an enquiring eyebrow.

“He thinks that if he’d handled him better, Daniel would be with us”

“That’s ridiculous,” says Castiel at once, because _it really is_.

Israfel’s smile is pitying. “You’re really oblivious sometimes, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Raqib thinks he’s let you down and he’s disappointed you”

“But..” Castiel doesn’t know what to say, because if anything, _surely_ , it’s the other way around. Castiel is dragging Israfel and Raqib around the country in search of a mirage, and _Raqib_ is the one who’s afraid of being a disappointment?

He exhales, studies the table cloth intently.

“We’re going to have to talk about it, y’know” Israfel’s voice is quiet.

He nods, they do, but he can’t, not right now.

 

 

The next morning he says, “I’ve thought of someone who may be able to help us.”

A lie of omission- he didn’t specify _when_ he’d thought of this idea. And how he’d discarded it, _attempted_ to discard it. 

When they wait silently for him to continue, he tells them about Daphne Allen.

“She’s a Guardian”

Raqib sets his mug of coffee on the table. “No _way_ ,” he breathes.

Israfel is frowning “I didn’t know there were any of that Order left” she says “Are you sure?”

“Yes”

“How?” asks Raqib.

“She..she’s the one who found me..after..after the Leviathans” he manages to say.

They both inhale sharply.

“I didn’t know, then” he says, “I didn’t know until much later.”

 

 

It’s Raqib and Castiel who head out to Leadville, leaving Israfel to deal with Peter Marks.

“Talk to him” she mutters to Castiel as she hands him his duffel, and Castiel is confused, which only makes her roll her eyes and say “For chrissake”.

 

They drive in silence for some ten minutes. Castiel tries to think of a suitable topic of conversation, but fails to come up with any.

“It’s a fine day” he says, finally.

Raqib shoots him a disbelieving look, before turning his eyes back on the road.

“Would you mind if I put on some music?”

He shrugs.

Castiel tries to find a station that he thinks Raqib would like.

When he settles on something playing…something like what he thinks Raqib would like, he steals a glance at Raqib, but he’s still got his eyes on the road.

For another three miles there’s only music and the hum of the rental’s engine.

“Look, I get it” says Raqib, suddenly.  “I’m not great at the handling people thing”

“None of us are”

“Well, Israfel, maybe” he amends, when Raqib rolls his eyes at him.

“He chose to speak to _you_ ” he says then.

“And I fucked it up”

“You were honest with him” Castiel replies, “and that’s all there is, sometimes”

 

There’s silence for about two minutes.

“You’re terrible at this” Raqib says, finally.

Castiel leans back in his seat to rest his head.

“Yes”, he sighs. “Don’t tell Israfel.”

 

“What do you remember?”

“About?”

“The beginning..your earliest memory”

“Light” he replies after a moment, “ _Knowing_..why do you ask?”

“Sometimes I wonder…I wonder if I remember it wrong, if I made it up, for…for everything that came later”

“What do you remember?”

“Light….” Raqib looks out of the window then, so that Castiel can only see the curve of his jaw, the line of his throat where it disappears into the collar of his shirt.

“ Love” he says finally. “I remember being loved”

Castiel thinks the human heart isn’t built for this.

Because there’s no way his can contain what he feels at that soft admission, no way that the ache can be held within these cells, this _ephemeral_ structure.

“You didn’t make it up” he says, when he can finally force some sounds out, make them rise from his chest and shape them with his tongue and palate and teeth and push them out in a way that is comprehensible to their now human ears.  

“You didn’t make it up”, he repeats.

 

 

His mobile rings- Sweet Child o’ Mine-Dean’s eyes had sparkled when he set up the ringtone- and Raqib mutters “ _Unbelievable_ ” even as Castiel picks up the phone to say “Hello Dean”.

“Cas” Dean’s voice rumbles over the phone, and Castiel will never not feel _this_ way when he hears Dean’s voice, he thinks, the sound strangely intimate in the shell of his ear, even though he’s thousands of miles away. “What’s up man, haven’t heard from you in a while”

“I spoke with you on Tuesday, Dean” he replies, “Today’s only Friday”

Dean huffs, “That qualifies as a while, ok?”

Castiel can hear Sam sniggering in the background. “Shut it, Sammy”

Castiel feels warm down to his toes, like the first time he’d had hot chocolate.

“Is something the matter Dean?” he asks.

There’s a heavy sigh across the line, and Castiel imagines that Dean is running his hand across his eyes, the way he does sometimes when he’s searching for words. Or patience.

“Well, since you last called, we put out the word, called Garth, and a couple of others. Just to keep an eye out. Things started filtering in..”

Castiel feels a sinking pit in his stomach.

“Fucking miracles, Cas, the blind are being healed and the lame are walking, homeless people discovering bags of cash in the trash”

The sinking feeling is coalescing into a heavy ball of lead.

“Is that all?” he manages to say, in an even tone.

There’s a tightness in Dean’s voice as he says “There are disappearances”

Castiel lets out a breath, tries to focus.

“A pattern?”

“Well, a lot of the places are..well, they are on our map. And these people who’ve disappeared, they’ve all seem to have appeared from nowhere in the first place. People who’ve moved into whatever town or city in the last three years. They seemed to have come from nowhere and disappeared again.”

“But somebody’s been reporting them missing?”

“Yeah, some of the time. If they held jobs or whatever, sometimes, it’s sheer luck that we even heard about them.”

“Zophiel’s taking them” Castiel is _sure_ of this.

A pause.

“Or they went, willingly.”

There’s an undertone of harshness in Dean’s voice.

_And here they are again, lines in the sand, so quickly formed._

“Be careful, Dean” he says at last, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“You too” comes the quick reply, but Castiel isn’t comforted.

 

When he hangs up, Raqib queries, “Zophiel?”

Castiel nods, even as he dials Israfel’s number.

She doesn’t pick up, and he tries not to panic.

“She’s probably put it on silent” Raqib says, his tone carefully even. “These should hold” he adds, as he pats his chest. Underneath his shirt is a spell-worked amulet; they’re each wearing one, and Castiel hopes that they will, indeed, hold.

 

They drive up the lane to Daphne Allen’s house, and he tries not to do something stupid like jump out of a moving vehicle.  The street is empty, and for a moment Castiel wonders if they’ve really entered a ghost town, although they’d driven through the center of town and that had looked as normal as any other in the Midwest.

The garden is still well kept, the hedges trimmed, so even if there’s no sign of life stirring behind the floral patterned curtains, he supposes there must be _somebody_ living here.

For the first time he considers whether Daphne may have moved out.

He doesn’t know if the sudden swooping in his gut is relief or it’s opposite.

He realizes he’s been waiting too long, when Raqib rolls his eyes at him and rings the bell. There’s a sound of shuffling behind the door and it’s pulled open- _Daphne_ \- and-

 

 

There’s a child.

Settled on the curve of her hip, cradled in her arms, a child with raven hair and eyes of sapphire blue.

Beside him, he hears Raqib make some kind of sound, but Castiel’s own ears are buzzing, so he can’t be sure whether there were actual words.

It’s the child who breaks the stillness of the tableau by reaching out towards Castiel.

The movement propels all of them into motion, Castiel reaching back automatically, without conscious thought, and Daphne simultaneously almost turning away a little, shielding the child. Castiel’s arms drop to his side. The buzzing in his ears is loud, so loud, he thinks his ears may start to bleed. He looks at Raqib, and finds that his face is also twisted in a grimace of pain.

“Abigail” says Daphne, “Stop it.”

The buzzing dims gradually and then fades.

The silence beats equally loud in his ears.

It’s Raqib who breaks it, says, “Abigail?” in a tone that’s both disbelieving and wondering. Daphne turns toward him, “I couldn’t be sure if that _is_ her name, I couldn’t really..translate..when I found her, but she responds to it. Perhaps for my sake, I don’t know.”

“It’s close enough” says Castiel, quietly. “Avigayil”

She turns to him and says “Why have you come here?”

He flinches inwardly at the undertone of fear in her voice.

_Had he? He didn’t think he’d ever scared her. Or was it one of those things he’d done and never noticed? Oblivious, Israfel had said of him._

“Castiel” she repeats, and there’s distress now, evident in her voice. 

Abigail, whose eyes have been darting between Castiel and Raqib, turns her head into Daphne’s shoulder at that, and murmurs something, her hands going around Daphne’s neck. Daphne’s reaction is to tighten both arms now around the child and drop a kiss onto the raven head.

“You’d better come in” she says, pushing the door open wider by pressing against it. “This isn’t a conversation we can have at my doorstep.”

 

 

The living room looks almost as it was when Castiel had last seen it. Well, except for the toys that lie scattered, some brightly coloured books, a tiny rocking horse.  Raqib sinks into the nearest chair, then reaches behind him to pull out a rather squashed looking stuffed toy in the shape of an alligator.

“Sorry” Daphne smiles at him, “It’s a little hard to keep track of this stuff”

Raqib smiles back, and Abigail, who’s shifted her position so that she can look at Raqib says “Aqi”, and reaches out toward him. Raqib looks both delighted and terrified as he gets up and takes her from Daphne.  Abigail places her tiny palms against his cheeks and tugs a little, drawing a chuckle from Raqib, as he bends his head obligingly until their foreheads are touching. Raqib’s eyes close, at the contact, and for a long moment they stand just like that, until Abigail whispers something, Castiel can’t quite hear, and it may not be even _language_ , yet Raqib seems to understand because he smiles, and settles down in the chair, with Abigail perched in his lap.

 

He categorizes the twinge in the region of his chest as envy.

 

He’s still standing at the threshold to the room, and when he takes his eyes off Raqib and Abigail, he sees that Daphne has been looking at him, and there’s a familiar softness in her eyes.

 “Come in” she says, and _oh_ , relief tastes like _this_.

He sits on the long sofa, back to the window, and Daphne sits on the only other chair, opposite Raqib.

“How did you find her?” asks Raqib

“I went looking” Daphne says. “When I heard about the..meteors. I wasn’t sure what-if anything- I’d find.”

“That was dangerous”

She shrugs, her lips lift in a half smile.

“I could hear her..well, _it,_ at that point, clearly in distress. I couldn’t _not_ go.”

“How..” starts Raqib again, and then quietens.

“I couldn’t really understand, the language, I don’t know if I can call it that…more like a feeling, y’know? I had to work entirely on that. It got stronger the nearer I got to the mine where I eventually found..well, frankly, stepping in was like into a tub of electricity or something like that, except that I didn’t actually get electrocuted, or even hurt..it was just..so much _sensation,_ I was overwhelmed. I passed out, maybe a few hours. When I came to, _she_ was there..just..a baby. A squalling one. I think that’s what woke me up, finally.”

“And so you brought her home”

“Yes”. She shrugs again.

“How did you..communicate?”

“Well, in the beginning, it was more going by the sense of her emotions, and she would try to speak, it was..well, peculiar, not like she was opening her mouth to make sounds, but I’d get this buzzing in my ears, in my _head_. It took a while before I could separate the sounds. A few months, actually. By that time, it was clear that whatever else was going on, she was actually growing up mostly like a normal human baby would- she started walking around a year later.”

Abigail clambers  out of Raqib’s lap now and makes a beeline for Castiel.

When she reaches him, she puts up her hands in clear demand.

Castiel can’t help the smile he feels his lips move into, as he lifts her up. She does the same thing she’d done earlier with Raqib- hands on his cheeks, and Castiel touches his forehead to hers. At first there’s just a buzz, like what he’d felt at the door, but then it _clarifies_ , and he can hear her whispering to him, in their language, their old language. She’s saying his _name_ , in the true language and _why,_ and he can only respond in _feeling_ , no words that he can shape anymore for what he feels, the shame and the guilt and yes, the anger. She quietens inside his mind, and his eyelashes feel a little damp and heavy, but she puts her arms around his neck and snuggles into his shoulder.

There’s a wariness in the look that Daphne has trained on him, but she says, direct as ever, “Have you come to take her away?”

“We didn’t _know_ anything much, just that there was an unexplained miracle that seemed to fit..I had only hoped that you _might_ know something.”

“So you’re..what, traversing the country, looking for survivors?”

 _Survivors_.

The word sits heavily on his shoulders.

“Yes”

“What happened?” she asks.

Where does he begin.

“There was-is- an angel, Metatron, he..he used my Grace- my essence, if you will- for a spell. It cast us out. We don’t know how many..or how many survived the fall.”

“He used your essence…how?”

“Manipulation, kind of, and then, force.”

He sees the pity in her eyes, thinks _don’t_.

“I was stupid” he adds, just to put things in perspective for everyone in the room.

Abigail shifts in his arms and puts her hands- tiny, fragile, perfect- on his cheeks again, but instead of tugging at his head, she runs her hands down his cheeks, as though petting him.

“Metatron” Daphne questions. “Is he not supposed to be the a..prophet? or something like that?”

“He was supposed to be the Scribe of God” Raqib replies. “He..disappeared a long time ago, nobody knew where he was..turns out he was right here, on earth, hiding in plain sight”

“Hiding?Why?”

Raqib looks at Castiel for guidance.

“Things are not always what they seem” he says. “Heaven hasn’t been- isn’t- what you would gather from the literature you find on earth.”

Raqib snorts and states blandly, “Father left, and our siblings went crazy. That’s it, in a nutshell.” Catching Castiel’s eye, he shrugs, and adds, “That’s the gist of it, really.”

“Father..you mean _God.._ isn’t in Heaven?”

“We don’t know where He is” Castiel admits

“So, this means that..what, Metatron is in charge now?”

“We guess- don’t really know what’s going on there anymore”

“And here? Do you know what’s going on _here_?”

Her gaze is sharp now, and Castiel squirms a little.

“Well, we know that some of us survived- it looks as though those who did may have found ways to..integrate..or at least, remain hidden-“

“I’d hardly call miracles of healing a way to remain hidden” she interrupts, her voice dry.

“I thought it might be you” she adds, “again.”

He flushes. “I don’t have those kinds of powers anymore”

“But you have..something. I can still sense it.”

He looks away, uncomfortable. “I can still see..true faces, but it’s..fading.”

He chances a glance at Raqib, but he’s staring at the plush alligator in his hands, which is apparently, the most fascinating object in the universe.

“What about you?” asks Raqib suddenly. “You have the sight, as well. And some powers, or Abigail would have hurt you.”

“I’ve never..I’ve never known how it works, or how I know some things. My grandmother, she was the one who told me about..our legacy, but even by her time, it was lost, most of it. Whatever knowledge we had, whatever powers. I have one book, and some..gifts..but no _knowledge_ …” She smiles, a little wistful. “It’s not something you can talk about with _others_ , and I didn’t meet- haven’t met- anybody else like me. In fact, _you_ ,” she says, turning toward Castiel, “were the first _proof_  I’d ever had in my life, that what I believed was _true_.”

If it weren’t such a painful- _preposterous_ \- thought, he might actually believe it- that he’d been _sent_ to her, that her faith could be the glue that patched the shards of him together.  That, broken as he was, his _existence_ would be the sword she held aloft against the army of doubt.

 _Preposterous_.

And _yet_ , here was Avigayil, playing on the floor now, lost in her little games with the pink elephant and a fluorescent green tyrannosaurus.

“When it happened, I didn’t know what to make of it. I sensed things, and perhaps, because of Abigail, so close. I knew instinctively what it was, but I didn’t know how or why or..I guess, what next” Daphne’s voice is ruminative. “I did what I could. For her. I didn’t know what else to do? And then- well, nothing much happened, did it? I thought _that_ was strange. And then, now, suddenly, these “miracles”, and I wondered….but it didn’t feel _right_ , oddly, and I..I didn’t know what had happened to you, after..whether you had gone back to being…whatever it was you were before the..river. It _felt_ like you, but also, _not_.”

“It’s not me” Castiel says, trying to figure out how to tell her about Zophiel without alarming her.

“But it’s not good, either, is it?” she asks.

_So much for protecting her._

Abigail makes a sound then, and he knows that all three of them can hear her when she says “Zophiel”.

He doesn’t know if she picked the name from his thoughts, or whether she had known in some other way.

“Who’s Zophiel?”

He gives her a watered down version of the events at Shipshewana, but he knows that she can read between the lines well enough.

“You are in danger” she says, and there’s a tautness in her voice that shouldn’t make him glad, but it does.

“We’ll manage to evade her” he says, “we’ve done it so far.”

Raqib’s face is creased into a frown, and he says “We should leave. We need to find Israfel.”

So then they have to explain about Israfel, and Peter Marks.

At the sound of his name, Abigail says something, and looks distressed, but they can’t make out what she means.

“Do I need to leave here?” Daphne asks, suddenly. “Do I need to take her some place safer?”

Castiel looks at Raqib, who shrugs.

“I don’t think so” he replies, “I imagine that Abigail’s survival has not come to her knowledge, or even if she does know, she isn’t interested, perhaps because of her..vessel.”

Abigail is making increasingly distressed sounds, so Daphne picks her up and soothes her, rocking her a little. “It’s ok, love”, murmurs, “I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

 

They drive back to Granite, with Castiel at the wheel this time, while Raqib tries-once, then again- to reach Israfel.

  _It’s not yet time to get worried_ , he repeats to himself, _it’s not yet time_. 

They make their way to the hardware store where Peter works at the cash counter. They find neither Peter nor Israfel there, although the petite blonde manning the counter stares and says “He sure seems popular today, usually nobody comes for _him_ ”.

“Did someone else come by then?”

“Earlier this morning. A really tall woman. Told her he’d taken the day off. He has these…migraines.”

“Could you tell us his address then” Raqib asks, flashing what he undoubtedly thinks is a charming smile. It works more often than not, so Castiel supposes that it is. It works this time as well- she flutters her eyelashes at him and jots it down on a post-it.

It’s just two blocks down from the store, a small house edged by a tiny patch of grass. It looks like everything else in the town- the sense of a slow descent into ruin, in microseconds of time, so that to an observer passing by once in ten years, it may seem as though the town had never changed, had been born and continued in this state of gentle disrepair. The paint that is peeling off the walls, may once have been cream or white, but is now a muddy grey; there are a few tiles on the roof that look as though they might fall off any minute. There’s a light on in an upstairs room, shining dully through the flimsy curtains.

Raqib shrugs at Castiel as he tries the door, in lieu of ringing the bell, and finds that it gives way. It’s dark downstairs; in the late afternoon light seeping in through the drawn curtains, Castiel can make out a small living room with a couch and a tiny kitchen, dominated by a rectangular table that runs down the middle of the room. Raqib is already half way up the stairs, paused to make sure Castiel is following. When they reach the upstairs landing, there are two doors, one probably leading to a bathroom, Castiel thinks, and the other was undoubtedly the bedroom.

“Knock” he says, “It isn’t polite to barge into someone’s personal space like this”.

Raqib rolls his eyes, but knocks softly.

There’s some movement from inside, and a minute later, the door opens inwards.

Israfel blinks at them. Behind her, they can see Peter Marks prone on the bed. He tosses a little, and groans.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Raqib snaps.

“Ran out of charge” Israfel admits, a little sheepishly, “I left the charger at the hotel. I didn’t expect to be..delayed”

She turns as she speaks and goes back to the bedside.

Castiel takes in the details he’d been unable to see before- a bowl of water, a damp washcloth.

“Is he ill?” he asks softly, trying not to waken the man.

“I suppose you could say that” she replies. “Found him passed out just inside his door, burning up, muttering things that would sound like gibberish to anyone else.”

“Enochian?”

She nods.

“The girl at the store said that he’s prone to migraine attacks”

“I doubt he knows what happens to him in these episodes.”

Raqib perches on the edge of a table near the bed, while Castiel leans against the door jamb. It’s not a big room. With the three of them there, it feels more than a little claustrophobic.

Peter moans again, murmuring under his breath, too faint for them to make out the words.

In answer to their silent query, Israfel shakes her head in the negative. “Couldn’t make out much. He keeps repeating “covenant” and once, or twice, I think, I heard your name.” She looks at Castiel.

“You think he’s “tuning in” to whatever’s going on with Zophiel and the others?”

“Could be. I’d asked at the store, this is the second time in two weeks he hasn’t come into work….apparently the “migraine attacks” aren’t that frequent usually…once in three or four months.”

“It makes sense” says Raqib slowly, “if there’s been heightened activity in the last few weeks, as compared to something he may have been picking off Abigail or ..I don’t know..others”

“Abigail?”

Raqib quickly fills her in on the events of the morning, to which she listens without comment, her eyes on Castiel all the time.

“Do you think he’s safe?” she asks

Castiel has been considering it for the last few minutes. “I’m not sure. I can’t imagine that Zophiel will want to have someone who can listen in to their communication out here in the open. But there’s nothing to say that he’s even been discovered yet.”

“It’s only a matter of time” she says, frowning. “And we should have Daphne and Abigail moved as well.”

“They’re hardly likely to be safer with _us_ ” he points out.

Whatever Israfel might have replied is lost because Peter Marks chooses that moment to wake up screaming. His body arches off the bed and he clutches at Israfel, who’s the closest, knocking her off balance and onto the bed. His eyes are wide open and frantic, and he yells “HELP!” and “THEY’RE HERE!” interspersed with words in Enochian. Raqib is trying to restrain him, while Israfel disengages from his hands. Then, as suddenly as he’d started, he stops, drops flat onto the bed, seemingly knocked out.

 

Castiel had plunged into action the moment he heard the screamed warning, slicing his hand with the knife he kept on him and slamming the door shut, painting a sigil. Israfel has rushed to the window and is attempting another sigil, but it’s too late.  One of the two figures that have materialized throws a punch that knocks Israfel sideways, the other kicks at Castiel, forcing him away from the door and preventing him from completing the banishing sigil.

It’s a melee, then, fists and arms and legs, and _blades,_ Castiel realizes, as he’s on his knees in front of his assailant. In the periphery of his vision he sees Raqib fall to the floor with a scream, and the sound of snapping bone.

 _Help_ , he thinks desperately, concentrating as hard as he can, while his heart thuds frantically, so loud, _boom-boom-boom_ - _help us_.

 

“Well, well. What an unexpected pleasure.”

The almost musical timbre to her voice is belied by the unconcealed rage on her face. She flicks her hand, and the pressure of the blade against his throat is gone. He struggles to his feet, casts a glance over Zophiel’s shoulder to where Israfel is standing stone-still, her face empty of expression, blood dribbling from a cut on her left temple. An angel in a grey suit stands behind her, blade to her neck. He thinks he recognizes her from the encounter with Naomi at that bar all those years ago.

Raqib is unconscious on the floor between the bed and the door.

“Daniel” says Zophiel, and that’s when Castiel really looks at the angel who’d almost killed him- a fresh shock when he looks into Daniel’s hazel eyes, devoid of warmth-of _anything_ -Daniel steps toward the bed, neatly climbing over Raqib’s prone body and reaches his hand toward Peter, who is still unconscious on the bed, although his face seems almost restful now.

 

“Not so fast, my lovelies.”

Castiel almost sinks to the floor again in relief, but there’s no time for such theatrics.  The momentary distraction allows Israfel to swing back at her captor who loses grip of her blade. In a second Israfel has grabbed it and plunged it through her chest. Light streams through the wound for a bare second before she slumps on the floor. Castiel does the only thing he can, whirls around and slaps his bloodied hand to the sigil. Daniel disappears in a flash of light, his scream echoing in the room, but Zophiel and Sariel- for it was she that Castiel had called for, in a wild, foolish hope born entirely of desperation- are still in the room.

They’re staring at each other and it feels like they’re sucking all the oxygen in the room into the half foot of space between their bodies.  He looks beyond them to Israfel, who’s straightened up, and is now inching toward Peter slowly, watchfully.  Both Zophiel and Sariel ignore her.

Raqib groans a little, and Castiel kneels next to him, trying to raise him up. Raqib’s left hand lies limp; broken at the shoulder, Castiel guesses.

“So you’ve chosen a side, sister”, Zophiel’s voice is harsh now, rough with her rage.

Sariel shrugs- she’s still in her ragged jeans and another ratty t-shirt, diminutive- almost ordinary- in front of Zophiel’s towering grace and ethereal beauty- but only a completely blind person would mistake Sariel as weak.

“By elimination, it seems” she replies, her voice without inflection, “Your actions are persuasive”

Zophiel sneers.

“A fallen pretender and his merry band of useless acolytes. You’ve picked the losing side, sister. Again.”

Sariel rolls her eyes.

Zophiel lunges then, sword appearing in hand in the instant, and Israfel cries out, but there’s a clash of light and a sound like the rumble of thunder fills the tiny room. Through the open window, pane swinging wildly, he sees a sudden darkness descend outside, as though somebody had snuffed out the sun.

“Go now!” Sariel shouts, her hair glowing like the burning sun in the light that is her _hand_ , and Israfel is already dragging Peter out of the bed, clambering over toward the side of the door, while Castiel pulls the semi- conscious Raqib to his feet, supporting him.  The light and _heat_ in the room is getting unbearable; distantly he hears the single lightbulb explode, and he has to squint while fumbling for the handle of the door. Somehow, _miraculously_ , they’re out on the landing. Israfel has slung Peter over her shoulder. Raqib groans again, but manages to stay on his feet, as Castiel drags him down the stairs and out of the door. Luckily, their car is parked just outside and two minutes later Israfel is turning on the engine with slightly shaking hands.

“Where to?” she grits out, her breath coming in puffs

Castiel’s heart is hammering as he turns back to look at the Marks’ house. All the streetlights are out, the sole source of light is Peter’s bedroom and he can see the glass glittering on the sidewalk in the reflected light, but it’s strangely silent, nobody on the street, not even one person has come out to investigate the noise and light emanating from the top floor.

“Where to, Castiel?” Israfel asks again, her voice beginning to take on shades of panic.

Castiel tears his eyes away from the burning room, and leans his head against the dashboard to quell the nausea.

“Daphne’s” he says, “there isn’t anywhere else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm aware that Raqib previously banished Zophiel with a sigil, but the fact that the sigil didn't work on her this time is deliberate, and we'll come back to it later. :)
> 
> Next update *may * be in two weeks, sooner, if I can help it, keeping my fingers crossed. Thank you for reading and sticking with the story!


	12. This Mortal Coil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are the wounds that you put Band-Aid over, and then there are the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-betaed, so all mistakes are mine. Feedback is lurve!

“Are you sure about this?” Israfel asks as they fly down the road to Leadville.

“No, I’m not” snaps Castiel “But I don’t see that we have another choice. Raqib may need medical attention and we can’t just kidnap Peter Marks! Do you have a better plan?!”

Israfel’s lips form a thin line, and he knows she’s furious, but she holds it in.

They make it to Leadville in what must surely be record time.

“I’m sorry” he says “That was uncalled for.”

“Do I take the right here?” she asks, her voice cool.

“Yes, and then the second left on Standish Avenue”.

 

 

They’ve barely parked outside the Allen residence, when the door flies open and Daphne comes running out, Abigail clutched in her arms.

Castiel feels his stomach swoop again as he exits the car.

“What’s happening?” she gasps, “Abigail has been terrified, I can’t make sense of much of what she’s been saying, are you ok? Where...” she breaks off abruptly when she sees the figures in the back seat.

“Raqib has a broken arm” Castiel says, as Abigail reaches anxious arms toward him. He can feel her trying to reach out to him via her mind as well, and he tries to respond with a calm that he doesn’t feel. When he takes her from Daphne, she immediately places her palms on his face, and he bends his forehead to hers as he’d done earlier that day. Instantly he feels the force of her terror in his mind, and he almost reels backward from the impact. Somehow he manages to hold on, tries to sooth her repeating words of comfort in the old language. The feelings pouring into his mind begin to lose their edge of terror, although her anxiety remains high. She murmurs something then, in Enochian, the word for “scared” and “death” and he whispers back, words of comfort, the language all mixed, but he knows that she understands.

Israfel has opened the door and is helping Raqib out. Raqib is awake now, although bleary, and clearly in pain. He bites his lip, holding his left arm, and says, “Get him out; I can walk a hundred metres, damnit”.

Handing a reluctant Abigail to Daphne, he helps Israfel carry Peter out of the car. Daphne holds the door open, says, “There’s a bed made up in the room through there”

_His old room._

_What does it mean that it’s ready,_ _waiting_?

_He can’t think these things now._

They settle Peter on the bed. Israfel puts a hand on his forehead, sighs. “Not burning up, but definitely higher than normal.”

Abigail tugs at Daphne’s blouse and points towards Peter.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, darling”

Abigail’s face scrunches up into a –rather adorable- frown and she tugs harder. Daphne sets her down near the bed, and Abigail clambers onto it and crawls to Peter’s side. She puts her tiny hands to his temple. He moans, softly at first, and then louder.

“Damnit” mutters Israfel, “this isn’t a good idea”

Suddenly he’s shivering, and thrashing about.

“Abigail!”

Daphne rushes to pick her up, but Abigail refuses to let go of Peter.

“You’re hurting him, Abigail, stop it!”

Peter goes suddenly still.

Abigail retreats, but doesn’t take her eyes off him.

Daphne puts a slightly trembling hand on his neck to check his pulse.

“Alive” she whispers, her voice a little hoarse. Shifting her hand to his forehead, she adds “...and looks like the fever is gone”.

They all look at Abigail, but she ignores them, staring at Peter instead, with that intense focus that was fast becoming familiar to Castiel.

“Do you want to stay here then?” asks Daphne, softly.

Abigail does look at her then, and in reply crawls back to Peter’s side, and lies down with her head next to his on the pillow, and one small hand laid across his shoulder.

“Ok, then...ok” says Daphne, rising to her feet, and they leave the room.

 

Raqib is lying on the sofa, his face screwed up in pain.

“I’m going to set the bone”

“Like hell you are”

“I do actually know how to do this”

“I don’t believe you”

“I wouldn’t lie about this”

 

It isn’t easy, but he does it. Raqib chokes down a scream, biting down on a cushion. He collapses, sweating, muttering a little, Castiel thinks he hears something about “ _jumped up angels who think they’re healers  fuck where’s the vodka_ ”  but he decides to ignore it in favour of slumping into the nearest available chair. His head feels like pure lead, and the bruise he sustained when Daniel had kickboxed him earlier is hurting _like a bitch_.

 

Israfel and Daphne have been setting up sigils around the house, Daphne copying what Israfel has quickly drawn on some sheets of paper. “It’s lucky I had the house repainted recently” Daphne says, “I have paint leftover”.

 Castiel realizes that he didn’t introduce them, but figures it wasn’t entirely un-obvious.

When they’re done, Israfel sits perched gingerly on the edge of the sofa, next to Raqib. Blood dries brown at her temple, body taut, and he can see a bruise beginning to turn purple around her neck, where the angel had apparently had a choke hold on her.

 

It’s been forty five minutes since their escape from Peter Marks’ residence.

 

There’s no way to tell whether the danger’s passed; it’s risky to send out any “signal”, in case the wrong people respond. He can only hope that Abigail isn’t, at this moment, drawing any attention.  

 

Daphne sets a box down on the table, “There are some bandages and medicines in here.” She hesitates for a moment, then says “I’m going to check on Abigail”.

 

“The sigils won’t keep her out”

He knows she means Zophiel, but it’s Sariel he thinks about.

Sariel, who had _answered_.

“How did we even..?”  from Raqib.

He’d forgotten that Raqib had been passed out for most of the time.

“I called for help,” he replies “Sariel came.”

Raqib turns an astonished face toward Israfel, who shrugs, silent, her face still tense.

 “Do you think…?” Raqib’s voice trails off.

 

It’s been forty eight minutes, thirty seconds.

 

Surely, if Zophiel had won, they would _know_ , by now.

 

He opens the medicine box, takes out some anti-septic and cotton, draws a chair in front of Israfel and gestures for her to lean forward.

“I can do it myself.”

“You could” he agrees, but dabs the anti septic onto the cotton anyways.

Smoothing the hair back from her temple, he begins to dab at it, gently cleaning the area. She winces when the damp cotton brushes against the gash. It’s not a deep cut, thankfully. Wouldn’t even need stitches, just some medicinal salve and a Band-Aid.

 

“Is he one of ours?” asks Israfel.

 “I think he was meant to be Abigail’s vessel” he says, slowly. “It would explain how he can...hear things, and her...concern.”

“Is that all, you think? I wonder why Zophiel would go into the trouble of kidnapping him. He wasn’t likely to be a threat”

 

He’s rather liberal with the ointment, before he covers it with some cotton and a bit of plaster.

 

“Not at the moment, but potentially, I suppose. Someone who can listen in? Who knows, at some point he may have become able to decipher what he’s hearing. She was probably pre-empting it” says Raqib

“But then it would make more sense if she’d gone after Abigail, cut it off at the source, so to speak.” Israfel frowns at him, when he brushes the collar of her shirt to check on the bruise around her neck. Her fairness makes the mottled blue more vivid, and his heart clenches; he had come so close to losing them, _again_.

“Stop _fussing_ ” she growls, almost.

 

“She may have planned it. Perhaps Daniel and…the other one were to stop over here as well. I _think_ Zophiel only dropped by because of _us_.”

“It _was_ him, wasn’t it?” Raqib says, softly.

Israfel leans over to arrange a cushion so that he’s more comfortable.

“We don’t know what happened” Castiel says, equally softly. “Don’t take it upon yourself.”

“Like you aren’t” Raqib retorts, “Like you _won’t_ ”

He needs to leave the room _now_ , so he says “I’ll check on Daphne and Abigail.”

In the periphery of his vision, he thinks he sees Israfel shaking her head at Raqib, even as she reaches out a hand to brush the hair back from his forehead.

 

Daphne is propped against the headboard, legs stretched out, one hand smoothing Abigail’s curls. Abigail still lies facing Peter.

“Is she asleep?” Castiel keeps his voice low as he approaches the bed and perches, wincing a little as pain shoots through his side.

She shakes her head, but says “You’re hurt. Let me have a look at it.”

“It’s nothing,” he declaims, “just a bruise. It’ll be alright tomorrow.”

“Will the sigils hold?”

He swallows, not wanting to lie, but unable to tell her the truth.

“I hope”, he says.

“So we just wait here?”

“We’re probably at more risk in the open. I’m sorry” he adds, “for dragging you into this. There wasn’t anywhere else I could think of that was near.”

Her fingers still for a minute, and then resume their gentle motion.

 

It’s been an hour.

 _Surely_ , if it had gone badly, they’d know by now.

 

“You should take a hot shower, you’ll feel better...your clothes are in the closet.”

He nods, doesn’t ask the obvious question.

She adds, chuckling a little, “Well, let’s count that as a small blessing. Neither of _them_ would fit into _my_ clothes!”

She swings herself out of the bed. “I’d better get them settled in.”

 

His shaving kit is still there, although his toothbrush has been replaced with a fresh one.

He wonders whether she did that this afternoon, after they left.

There are questions he doesn’t quite _want_ the answers to.

 

Pulling the t-shirt over his head has him choking back a moan, because his side hurts so much.  It isn’t broken, but the skin is a deep purple, and the entire area- the size of a heel- is puffy.

He looks at himself in the mirror.

The day’s stubble is beginning to show.

He remembers the first time he shaved, as Emmanuel.

Picking up the razor and knowing what to do, but his actions had felt like a mimicry, and he hadn’t known _why_. Everything had felt a little off, peculiar in a way he couldn’t put a name to. Like a man born blind who’d received sight one miraculous day, and spent the rest of his life trying to figure out the difference between an apple and the picture of one.

Now when he picks up the razor, he is keenly aware of everything- the graze of the blade, the rasp of the cloth he wipes across his skin, the bloom of blood when he nicks himself.

Suddenly, he’s trembling, his lungs seizing, and he has to grip the edges of sink to keep himself upright.  The day crashes over him, a tsunami of emotion.

_It’s ok, it’s ok._

_Israfel bleeding._

_Breathe in, breathe out._

_Peter screams._

_That’s it._

_Abigail clutches his neck._

_That’s it._

_Daniel’s empty eyes._

_Breathe in, breathe out._

_A blade plunges into his sister’s chest._

_Legs like overcooked noodles sink to the floor._

_It’s too hot. It’s burning. It’s fire and blood and screaming._

_It’s ok, it’s ok._

_It’s Sariel’s sword and the Leviathan oozing its evil into his Grace._

_Breathe in, breathe out._

_It’s Naomi slumped across her desk._

_It’s the vampire he’d killed a year ago, a child who had been turned, mouth open in a scream as he beheaded it._

_Dean’s bloodied face._

_Breathe in, breathe out._

_Raqib on the floor._

_It’s not your fault._

_Daphne’s green eyes._

_It’s Sam retching on the floor._

_Breathe in, breathe out._

_The small sound Balthazar made as he’d dug the blade that last extra inch._

_Breathe in, breathe out._

_Everything is closing around him, and he’s trapped, trapped, trapped, here, this prison, this endless night._

 

It takes a while.

 

When he emerges from the shower, towel wrapped around waist, Daphne is bent over Abigail.

“She’s asleep” she says, looking up at him. Her eyes lock on his, and whatever she must see in his face makes her face crease into a worried frown, but then her gaze shifts, finds his injury.

“Sit down” she instructs, “I’m getting the kit”

He sits, eyes on the floor. Water trickles down the back of his neck, evaporates almost immediately.

The floor is polished wood, worn over the years, and he feels the smoothness against every pore of his skin where it makes contact.

His feet seem strangely white against the dark brown.

He doesn’t look up until he hears her drag a chair toward him. 

“This is going to sting a bit,” she says, softly.

He nods.

Her touch is gentle, as always.

He remembers- sort of, in brief flashes- the day she brought him home from the river.

There was cold, cold, _cold_ , and then, _warmth_ , a _safe_ , _soothing_ touch.

She’s pressing down as gently as she can, checking if he’s broken a rib, he supposes.

He doesn’t think so, and almost two years with Sam and Dean have made him a fair enough judge of these things.

Even if his senses are limited to five.

Daphne is saying something.

He needs to concentrate on listening.

“…I’ve put some bedding in the room upstairs- I’d had it converted into a nursery, so there’s no adult sized bed there anymore, sorry- it should be more comfortable for you than the couch. But you can take the couch, if you like. Israfel and Raqib can share mine, if you don’t mind, I’d rather stay here with Abigail. In case.”

Her fingers are deft as she sticks a bit of tape over the bandage.

They rest lightly against his side for a moment. He feels the calluses of her thumb and forefinger, the difference in each.

It feels like those first few weeks.

Waking up in a forest, and suddenly aware of his body in excruciating clarity.

The weeks when he learnt hunger and cold and itchiness and sweat and dirt and _smell_.

 

“Hey,” she whispers “It’s ok, we’re ok”

“Yes” he says, his voice scraping in this throat, “It’s ok”

She moves to sit beside him, half an inch between them, but doesn’t move to touch him in any way, for which he’s grateful.

 

Some time later- ten minutes or an hour- he’s not really sure, she murmurs, “I need to go fix some dinner”. She does touch him then, a soft press to his bare shoulder before she leaves.

He should move.

He _can’t_ sit here wrapped in a towel and his sorrow when there are things to do.

So he gets up, puts on the t-shirt and worn tracks that he’d laid out before and makes his way back to the land of the living.

Israfel and Daphne are in the kitchen; Israfel’s chopping up some onions. She’s wearing one of his old shirts and a pair of jeans and it fits her ok, except that the cuffs end a little above her wrists, and he can bet the jeans are cut off above her ankle as well.

 

He watches her hands- chop-thuk-chop-thuk- as the knife hits the board in a steady rhythm. She doesn’t pause when she looks up as he enters, but her eyes flick over him, once, then again.

He starts peeling some potatoes that are laid on the slab.

“Oh hey” says Daphne, “It’s lamb chops and potatoes tonight, and some chickpea salad”

“Sounds wonderful” he says automatically.

She raises an eyebrow at him.

Israfel has moved on to dicing some tomatoes.

“Is Raqib resting?” he asks.

“Not so much” comes the reply from behind him.

Raqib’s wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of tracks as well, floating a bit in them.

“How can I help?”

“Sit in the corner” mutters Israfel “I’m not letting you anywhere near my dinner.”

“You wound me” Raqib makes a show of it, “deeply”

Daphne chuckles at the weak joke, but it does seem to lighten the atmosphere a little.

Somehow the conversation stays around food, of all things. The merits of various salad dressings, as though that were _of any import._

Castiel’s head pounds.

He needs some _air_.

“I’ll check on Abigail and Peter” he says abruptly and is gone before anyone can counter.

 

They’re both asleep, and from the looks of it, soundly.

 

He fishes for his phone, which he’d forgotten to take out of the pocket of his discarded jeans. There’s a number on speed dial, but he doesn’t know whether he can _handle_ hearing the voice on the other end right now.  He settles for sending a text.

“Zophiel definitely behind disappearances.”

After a minute he sends another.

“Be careful. If possible, avoid moving out of the bunker for a day or two.”

There’s barely a minute between the second text and his phone ringing.

Castiel cuts off the call, sends another message.

“I’m fine.”

Then he turns the phone on silent and leaves the room, the screen blinking.

 

 

 

 

Dinner is a mostly silent affair, perhaps his abrupt departure had ruined the others’ feeble attempts at normalcy. _Perhaps_.

There’s a clink as Daphne suddenly sets down her fork and knife.

“You have to tell me what’s going on, y’know- all of it.”

There’s no avoiding her unwavering gaze- if he didn’t look at her, then it would have to be at Israfel or Raqib, and that may actually be marginally _worse_.

“I don’t know where to start” he says, truthfully.

She leans back with a sigh.

“Ok, then, let’s start with what’s going on with Peter Marks.”

A pause.

“What’s going on with him?”

“He can hear the angels”

He feels, rather than hears Israfel and Raqib still.

There, he said _it_.

Because it’s useless to _pretend_ any more.

 _They aren’t angels. Not anymore_.

“So I gathered, but why? Why him? Is he..is he like.. _me_?”

He tries not to notice the catch in her voice.

“It’s likely to be because of Abigail.”

“How?”

“It’s hard to say for sure…but given her reaction, it maybe because he was meant to be her vessel.”

“Vessel?”

It’s Raqib who answers. “Our true forms aren’t..compatible with this plane, so to speak. At any rate, we can’t interact with humans in them without hurting them or killing them. So we need vessels- human beings who agree to-host us. There aren’t a lot of those, by the way. It’s a gif- an ability- passed on by bloodline.”

“So you..what, _possess_ them?” There’s an unmistakable note of horror in her voice.

“It’s by consent” Israfel says, blandly, “Of a kind”

He looks at her now, meets her accusatory eyes.

“What happens to..the vessel?”

“We hold their consciousness in our control. They’re aware, but not…awake.”

“Most of the time” adds Israfel.

He knows that particular cruelty is aimed at _him_.

“So, wait, you think Abigail tried to..was trying to..uh..reach Peter, and is that why she fell here?”

“We don’t quite know how it all worked” Castiel says, _tired_ , and he cannot tear his gaze from Israfel’s.

“Do you think..is she..would she try?” Daphne can’t quite form the words, and when he looks at her, he sees her trying to comprehend it all.

“It’s unlikely. It wouldn’t work, I believe, even if she tried. Despite the fact that she’s retained some of her powers, I think she’s..locked in her present form.”

“So how did that work, then?”

“We don’t know” says Raqib, quietly. “We just don’t know. It’s probably the properties of the spell that cast us out. For that matter, we don’t even know if that spell worked _properly_ , since….since there seem to be several of us still walking around with our powers intact, even if we are..trapped on Earth.”

This last bit is said defiantly, almost.

“And you..the three of you..”

“I once knew a man who looked like me” states Raqib, and then smiles, a little bitterly.

“I chose mine..in a manner of speaking” says Israfel, “but the person I look like has been dead these several centuries.”

“Jimmy is dead.” He states it baldly.

Daphne opens her mouth, then shuts it, clearly having thought the better of it.

He doesn’t want to look at her either.

That old impulse, _flight_ , thrums in his veins, but here he is, _trapped, trapped, trapped_ , and he’s too tired, too _everything_ , to _fight_.

“So, why exactly are Zophiel and her gang after Peter? Or are they after Abigail?”

“Peter- again, we think. Probably because they realized he was able to hear them.”

“Do you think Abigail can?”

“She should be able to..” Castiel says, slowly, “but I can’t guess how much she’s able to understand…in any case, her communication is very basic, even with us.”

“She has been more anxious than usual, since these last few couple of weeks”

“Probably there’s been more-activity-and she’s been picking it up”

“What do you think their plan is?”

“World domination- at least” says Israfel “We’re not very used to having to kow-tow to- beings far less powerful than us.”

“Far less powerful than what we _were_ ” he corrects.

Israfel shrugs. “We’re not all as caring of the distinction as you seem to be.”

“I’m just accepting of _facts_ ” he snaps

“Oh really?” her voice is whiplash “Is that why _you_ came looking for _us,_ Castiel? Because you were finding it so easy to _pretend_ to- not be- not be” she stumbles but then finishes, fiercely “who you _are_?!”

“How is _this_ the pretense?! _”_ and he’s _yelling_ , he knows, slamming his hand on the table, the cutlery rattling, but he doesn’t _care_. “Look at what happened today- we were no more able to do anything than any average human being would have!”

“Huh” she sneers, not cowed in the least, “One would have thought you’d considered these “facts” before you set out on this..fucking…before you pulled us out of our perfectly _human_ lives and sent us cross country, gave us.. _hope_ even if we knew it was always a _fool’s_ hope, even then, even THEN. And now- at the first sign of trouble, you want to _run_? Or _better_ , curl up in a ball and _die_?!”

She’s on her feet now, they all are, but she doesn’t stop.

“I should have believed it when they said it…a god with clay feet. That _is_ all you are!”

The silence following her statement is so loud, it suffocates.

“What” he stops, then starts again, his voice a painful rasp in his throat that’s too tight “What do _you_ know, Israfel, about making choices and having them all end in _loss,_ again and again and _again_? What do _you_ know about staking everything on an idea, and then losing _everything_? Again and again and _again_?”

He takes a deep, shaky breath, and so does she.

He notices, as though it were happening to someone else, that Raqib has placed a hand- his hurt one- on his arm. He doesn’t know whether it is to restrain him or calm him.

 

“I don’t know..you’re right” she says, quietly, “I admit that. I can’t imagine it. I can’t pretend to know it. But I _do_ know other things- _love_ , and _honour_ , and _duty_ and _home-_ and whether we like it or not, we’re going to have to _fight,_ Castiel, even if not for ourselves, then for our _family,_ and they _are_ still _ours_ , and not just for _our_ family _-_ for people like Peter Marks, and Daphne and Sarah West who gave me  a home and hearth and saved my life when I washed ashore. For people like her who have nobody _else_ to stand for them.”

She moves then, walks around the table until she’s right in front of him.

Raises and puts it on his nape, drawing him closer, touching their foreheads together. He goes, unresisting, his limbs fluid, as though they don’t belong to him at all.

“I’m. I can’t” he whispers

“You don’t have to do this by yourself, brother” she whispers back. “We’re here. Right _here_.”

“We’re _screwed_ ”

“Probably. But we’re going to try. Promise me. Swear it.”

He puts his arms around her and holds her tight.

She lets him.

 

 

“Is this drama stuff contagious?”  asks Raqib

They ease out of the embrace, and her lips quirk a little, and she squeezes his arm gently, before she lets go completely. He nods.

“Can it, squirt” she volleys, “I’ll break your other arm.”

 “Sorry” he says to Daphne, “That..I’m sorry.”

“You can do the dishes” she says, but her smile is reassuring. “I’ll just go check everything is ok with Peter and Abbie.”

As they clear away the remnants of dinner, Raqib asks, “Should we keep watch, you think?”

Israfel says, “It’s been hours. I don’t think we’ll be troubled tonight. But..” she hesitates.

“We can’t stay here” Castiel agrees. “None of us can.”

“When Peter wakes-“

“If he wakes up-

“- if he wakes up, then we tell him- give him the choice-but if he doesn’t? What then? Check him into a hospital?”

Castiel hesitates, but then nods slowly. “That may be the best. We can ask them to notify us..or we have to find someone in town who can be notified..if there’s any change in condition.”

“He could still be kidnapped from a hospital” Raqib argues. “I don’t like the thought of leaving him alone there..he’d be too exposed.”

Castiel sighs. “I’ll call a friend. He may know some hunters or somebody who can check in on him regularly.”

“And what about Daphne & Abigail?”

“I’ll talk with her” Castiel says, “I have a friend who can probably provide a safe house for them..if she agrees. Until then, they come with us.”

“We can’t drag a child across the country, Castiel, and certainly not one as _special_ as Abigail.”

“No, we can’t. We..I think we need to regroup, lay low for a while.”

“We could go back to Maine, to my place.”

“I know some place safer- the Winchester residence. We can’t stay long, of course. But I’m sure Sam & Dean will be ok for us to be there for a few days until we figure out our next move.”

“Yowzah! So we finally meet the boyfriend.” Raqib’s grin is teasing.

“Dean’s not my boyfriend.”, denies Castiel quickly.

“Did I mention his name?”

Israfel snorts, but subsides when he turns a glare on her.

“Both Sam and Dean are very good people” Castiel says, flushing, “I’m very fond of them both.”

“Uh-huh” says Raqib, and would have clearly continued in that vein, but Daphne’s entrance saves him further mortification.

“You have seventeen missed calls” she says, handing him his phone. “From the same number- a Dean Winchester? It was ringing when I passed by, that’s..” Daphne seems a little embarrassed, he can’t think why.

Israfel sniggers.

He wipes his hands on a dish towel, and mutters, “Thanks” and goes into the living room.

 

“What the fuck, Cas” is the first thing Dean says.

“Are you ok?” is the second thing he says.

Castiel is still _raw_ , but _oh_ , he’d been _so_ wrong about not being able to _handle_ Dean’s voice, he finds that he _can_ , very much so, that he _needed_ to hear him.

“I’m sorry” he says, “There were some things going on. I’m fine.”

“Do we need to pick up your sorry ass from somewhere?”

“No” he can’t help smiling, “but I’d appreciate it if you would let me and my friends stay at the bunker for a few days. We need..some space.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“What’s going on, Cas? Talk to me” It’s Dean’s quiet voice, the voice he uses when he’s being absolutely serious with Castiel.

“It’s a lot, Dean. Zophiel- she tried to kidnap this boy from the town we’re in- we just managed to escape. I can’t go into the details right now.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m _fine_ , Dean, but we need a safe space for a while, and the bunker is the safest space I can think of.”

“Sure, Cas, anything. I’ve told you before. Bring your friends in. When will you be here?”

“Tomorrow evening, if we can. I’ll give you a call when we’re on our way.”

“Right…ok.”

“Take care, Dean.”

“Yeah, you too..call me..I mean before, I mean _anytime_. Ok?”

“I will” he promises.

Perhaps he thinks, in a rush of unfounded optimism, perhaps it will be ok.

 

 

 

He can’t sleep. Too much has happened today, and he can’t sleep.

He doesn’t want to sleep.

He knows that tonight the dreams will not be good.

Checking the luminous dial on his watch- 3 am- he sighs and pushes himself off the mattress that’s been laid out for him. Maybe a cup of tea would soothe his nerves.

He remembers that Daphne was fond of herbal infusions; a cup of chamomile would be welcome.

He tries to be as quiet as possible, but he’s taking the kettle off the stove when Daphne says “Couldn’t sleep?”

Startled, he almost drops the kettle.

“Careful!”

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

She sighs “Wasn’t really asleep.”

“Abigail?”

“She’s fine, she woke up a while ago and then actually deigned to snuggle me for a bit before she went back to sleep.”

He smiles in relief.

“Would you like a cup?”

She nods, so he puts the kettle back on and pushes his own toward her.

“I insist” he adds, when she shakes her head.

She smiles- a semi-exasperated smile that he likes on her- and takes a sip.

“I was thinking about..what you said. About moving to a safe house.”

He waits.

“It’s big. Not something I can just.. _do.._ overnight.”

“It’s wouldn’t have to be permanent. And you’ll be safe, and Abigail..”

“Or as safe as you can keep us..but you don’t know for how long”

“Yes.”

She puts her cup down, trails her hand over the table, looks around the kitchen.

“I’ve put so much in this place, do you know that?”

It comes out soft, wistful.

He knows.

“Did you know I was married once?”

He hadn’t known. She’d never mentioned it. But then, she’d never said anything much about her past, although he’d been aware that her parents had died when she was very young, and he hadn’t queried much. It had been easier to pretend that at least one of them knew what had come before; that one of them hadn’t randomly opened a page in the middle of a book and started writing.

“Twice, actually. The first time, I was barely nineteen. Ran away from home- my grandmother’s- to be with him. We were going to travel the world. Turned out there were certain kinds of baggage he wasn’t willing to carry along the way.”

She shrugs.

“The second time, I was twenty five, wasn’t looking for a relationship, much less for a marriage. He swept it all away.”

“What happened?”

“Life” she says, “he died in Iraq.”

“I’m sorry.” he says, knowing the inadequacy of it.

“It sucked. But I..I’d long since taught myself- to- to live life with an open palm, as it were- to not try to hold on to things, y’know? That for whatever time you spent together, that was enough, and then, let _go_.”

He thinks about her easy acceptance of his comings and goings in her life- and the shaving kit in the bathroom.

“And then this place happened, and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to set my roots down. To anchor myself. To call someplace _home_. And then, when Abigail came along, that feeling, it.. _solidified_.”

He feels panic bubbling in him.

“You won’t be _safe_ here” he pleads, “ _Please_.”

“You were sent to me” she says, repeating what she’d said long ago. “I still believe that. And if that is true, then this must also be what is supposed to happen.”

She looks at him once more, her eyes grave.

“I have to open my palm again.”

“You’re extraordinary” he says, and he means it.

She gives him a lop-sided smile, “If an angel is telling me that, then I guess it counts, huh?”

He takes a sip of his tea to avoid responding.

“You wear it better now” she says quietly, “but I don’t think it will ever be all that you are. Because none of us are just this-“she holds out her palms, upturned “-none of us are just _this_ ,and you _know_ it, better than most.”

He finds her hand, then, presses her knuckles to his lips for a moment.

“I never said-thank you” he says, softly, “for everything.”

She smiles, and looks down where their fingers are still interlaced, now resting on the table top.

After a moment she says, “Tell me about these Winchesters.”

So he does, talking until the tea grows cold, and the first tendrils of sunlight creep through the windows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this chapter was extremely emotional for me, and had me in a mess. Does it show? *sigh *  
> Next update will hopefully be around 28th-29th August! Thanks for reading, and sticking with the story.


	13. A Room of One's Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and his band of not-so-merry-people find their way back to the Winchester residence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, first of all apologies for the long long delay. This was supposed to be up a month ago, but I let real life and procrastination get to me. On the plus side, this chapter is almost 10k so, that's like double my usual chapter length.   
> That's good right?  
> That's worth the wait right? 
> 
> Er. Hmm. 
> 
> Second, I intended to finish this story before S9 premiered, but that's clearly not going to happen. However, spoilers I've seen indicate that we might get (in part ) a Post-Angel Fall universe that's somewhat similar to what's set up in this story. However, I know that I am *also * going in a wildly different direction for Castiel at least, from what canon will (or can) go. So while it may be possible for me to incorporate canon from S9 in the remaining chapters, it's not very likely that I will. 
> 
> As always, un-betaed, so all errors are mine. Oh and I also stopped looking up maps so all place names in this chapter are fictitious.

“Dannie?”

It’s Abigail, who has apparently crawled out of bed and made her way to the kitchen, where Castiel and Daphne have drunk their third cups of (cold) tea.

She looks sleepy and a little cross as she frowns and reaches out her hands in the universal gesture for “pick me up _now_ or I’m going to make you wish you had”.

Daphne obliges of course, kissing her cheek and smoothing her hair back.

“You hungry, darling?” she asks

Abigail nods.

“What will you have?”

Abigail considers this seriously for a minute and then pronounces “Popcorn”.

“That’s not a breakfast food, sweetheart, how about I fix you some Froot Loops? You love those, remember?”

“Colours” agrees Abigail, but still frowns. “Popcorn?” she asks again, a trifle plaintive.

“Later, baby, not right now.”

“I’ll check on-“

Turns out he doesn’t need to, because Peter Marks has wandered into the kitchen as well.

Abigail twists in Daphne’s arms and says cheerily, “Peeta”

“Where..where am I?” Peter asks.

It’s Daphne who steps in the breach.

“Hi Peter. I’m Daphne Allen. This is my home, in Leadville.”

She moves toward him, holding out a hand.

Peter looks at it, but doesn’t take it, staring at Abigail instead.

“How..how did I get here?”

“You’d better sit down” says Daphne, “it’s a long story.”

 

 

Israfel & Raqib have joined them by the time Castiel explains- or attempts to explain- the series of events that have led to him being here. Daphne pitches in now and then, while she fixes some breakfast for Abigail.  Peter barely notices their entrance.

“So what you’re saying is…there’s a bunch of.. space aliens trying to kill me because I can..tune into their radio?”

Castiel opens his mouth to contradict him, catches Daphne’s eye, and settles for a “Yes.”

“Fuck.”

He puts his head in his hands.

_“Fuck_.”

After five minutes, he looks up.

“Ok, I’ve gone completely stark raving mad finally and I’m imagining this whole conversation aren’t I?”

“This isn’t a delusion, Peter” says Daphne, gently.

He says shakily, “You don’t understand. I’ve been expecting it, waiting for it. The day I’d finally go right over. Seen _other_ people waiting for it, when they look at me. And now you’re telling me, that…these last two years, have been..that I’m..”

“It’s a lot to take in, kid” Raqib speaks, for the first time, “but this is real.”

Peter stares at him.

“You don’t look anything like any pictures of angels I’ve seen.”

Raqib shrugs.

“Yeah. So?”

Peter is quiet for a bit.

Finally he says, “I want to go home.”

Castiel says, as gently as he can, “That would be very dangerous, Peter. I’m sorry.”

“And frankly, we don’t know how much of your house remains.”

“ _Fuck_.”

“Bad word” says Abigail, unexpectedly, looking up from where she’s been contentedly tucking into her cereal.

They all stare.

She smiles at Peter, makes a motion of her hands toward the bowl and says “Foot loos?”

He stares at her for a long moment, the first he’s done since his initial entrance, and then stretches a hand, tentative, palm opened. She places a sticky hand solemnly in his. They stay like that, staring at each other.

“I can hear her in my head” he says, softly, shakily. “Tell me I’m not hallucinating.”

“You’re not” Israfel says. “You..seem to have a connection with her.”

“Avigayil” he says, still soft. “Is that her name?”

“We call her Abigail” says Daphne, “which I’m told, is close enough.”

“You can hear her too?”

“I can..but I can’t always understand what she’s saying.”

“Why not? She’s pretty clear..”

“As we said, you have a connection.”

He exhales.

“So all those…things..dreams I’ve been having, they’re..true?”

Castiel exchanges a glance with Israfel & Raqib.

“Depends. How much do you remember?”

“Not much. I remember being terrified. Before, if I tried to concentrate and put it down on paper later, I’d just end up having these terrible migraines. And when I recovered, I wouldn’t be able to remember much.”

He pauses.

“I think I’ve been hearing Avi-Abigail pretty clearly though. It was confusing, like having this other person live in your head and conduct their own life without knowing anything about them….sometimes it was like I was having a shared dream, you know? But other times, it’d be like a totally separate person. A very _odd_ sort of person, it’s true. I guess _that_ makes more sense now that I’ve met her.”

He frowns, says “Well, it was odd for me, Abigail, I’m sorry, it just isn’t _normal_ to have someone wondering why they don’t have stuffed toys that look like the _real_ animals, _especially_ when that person _isn’t_ you, but is loud and clear in your head!”

After a moment, Raqib says, “Er..ok then.”

Peter flushes “Sorry, I was just..I guess I’d got into the habit of talking back, y’know? Sometimes?”

“That’s..interesting” says Daphne “How do you translate?”

He looks at her, confused, “I don’t. I mean, I don’t have to. I just understand it.”

“So it sounds- it comes across as English?” asks Israfel

“No. My therapist asked me to write it down, once. I tried to, but, it was just a lot of gibberish- I mean, I  tried to put down the sounds I was hearing, I guess? Weren’t really English. But I could understand them.”

“From the start?”

“A..a few days after the cave. Maybe a week? Ten days?”

“And when you talk back?”

“I never really thought about it…but..I guess it’s English. If I think about it.”

Castiel runs a hand through his hair.

“You’re going to be in grave danger, if you don’t come with us, Peter. We’re taking Daphne and Abigail to a safe place, where we can arrange for some protection, and if you come with us, we can offer you some safety too- well, as much as we are able.”

“You’re taking Abigail?” Peter’s eyes dart to Daphne for confirmation and then to Abigail herself.

Abigail is looking at him seriously, a grave expression that sits oddly on her young face.

Some kind of silent communication is going on between them.

Israfel raises an eyebrow at Castiel, and then shrugs when he shakes his head.

“She..she wants me to come along.” Peter says. “Fuck. I don’t know what to do. I can’t just…leave.”

“Why not?” asks Raqib, “You’re gonna miss being the town loon?”

Israfel raps him on the shoulder.

Peter flushes.

“Why should I trust any of you?” he asks, defiant.

“Abigail trusts them” Daphne says quietly, “and so do I. But it _is_ your decision, Peter.”

“We’ll try to have someone check in on you, if you decide to stay” says Castiel, “but it can’t be very often, and..well, in an emergency, help might just be too far away.”

“Are you sure they’ll come back?”

“I think it’s almost certain, yes.”

Peter sighs and then rubs at his eyes. He looks exhausted, hanging on by a thread.

“Alright.”  He says, and then meeting Castiel’s eyes, “Thank you.”

 

 

When they’re finally ready to leave, the sun is just beginning to climb up the sky. Daphne has thrown in whatever she could in two suitcases- for Abigail mainly. At the gate, she pauses for a second, but doesn’t turn back, quietly pocketing the keys into her jeans. When she meets his eyes, she smiles rather wistfully, and he wishes he had the right words for her, but he’s not ready to give _another_ person what might be a pitifully false hope, so he reaches for her hand and squeezes it, instead. Strangely, that seems the right thing to do- her smile widens a little, and she murmurs “Hello cliff, meet face.”

They’re taking Daphne’s car- Castiel is driving with Daphne riding shotgun; Abigail and Peter ensconced in the back. In the rear view mirror he notices that she’s got her hand clutched on his sleeve, while he’s just resting his head on the window, staring out with a blank expression. They had vetoed the possibility  his of going back to check on the house, but Israfel & Raqib were planning to stop by after they picked up their stuff from the hotel where they’d left it yesterday.

Temporary protection charms penciled in sharpies onto their skin and some sigils hidden in the trunk were all that stood between them and Zophiel’s cohorts but it was the most they could do with practically no occult supplies. They’d arranged to meet with one of Garth’s sources on the way to pick some up, and some more charms. He hoped that Garth had correctly translated his _extremely precise_ instructions, because, well, if he didn’t those charms weren’t going to be exactly _harmless_.

 

They’re already on the highway when Israfel calls.

“We picked up the stuff” she says. “Man, do you know how nasty these hotel people can get?”

He hears Raqib say cheerfully “Don’t worry. Somebody’s going to wake up to some mysterious rash tomorrow morning.”

“Raqib! It’s not like we want to leave MORE clues to our whereabouts!”

“Hey! It wasn’t anything an average witch couldn’t do!”

Castiel rolls his eyes, before remembering that it’s useless. “Is that all?”

She sighs.

“The house is completely burnt to the ground. We spoke to some of the locals gawping. Apparently they removed one dead body, charred beyond recognition.”

“One?”

He feels Peter’s gaze boring holes into his neck.

“It’s probably..the one I killed.”

They hadn’t even known her name, Castiel thought.

_They hadn’t even known her name._

“Do you think they’ll realize it’s not Peter?”

“Might take a while, I’m guessing, but eventually the forensics will figure it out. At which point, my guess is that there’s going to be some people looking for him.”

So Sariel might have escaped.

As could have Zophiel.

He checks the rear view mirror as though that could tell him _anything_.

“We’re just past Meadowstown.  We’ll wait for you at Smithsonville.”

 

 

They pick up the charms and supplies from Garth’s associate- a sullen looking teenaged girl in clothes that look as though they’d never met detergent. “Cory” she mutters, makes a motion with her hand that is supposed to be a greeting, Castiel imagines. Her hair is myriad coloured and she has more piercings than anyone Castiel has _ever_ met before. Cory’s gaze is unabashedly curious, and as it rests on Raqib, even more than a little appreciative. However, she doesn’t ask questions, and as Castiel recognizes the careful work on the charms, he is inclined to think of her favourably, despite her appearance. She counts the cash out, meticulously, nods her head and does that strange motion with her hand again before slouching away.

 

As they draw nearer the Winchester residence, Castiel feels the knots in his stomach growing tighter. Anticipation and anxiety, in equal measure, he thinks, though, perhaps, at this moment anxiety is winning. Dean hadn’t _hesitated_ before agreeing to host his friends- Dean had even invited them _before_ , he repeats silently in his head to quell his nerves. What would Dean- and Sam- think of them? What would Israfel and Raqib think of the Winchesters? And a child? Abigail had been fairly well behaved on the ride so far, enduring the long drive with remarkable fortitude, but he knows the bunker isn’t exactly suited for a child, even one as unusual as Abigail- perhaps especially for one as unusual as her.

Peter had remained in his frozen state, curling in on himself even more, when Castiel had related Israfel’s news. He had flinched when he heard about the body, and then gone back to looking out of the window.  When they’d stopped to grab a bite, he had sat quietly at the table, picking at his food.  

Suddenly this whole enterprise feels like a _very bad idea._

Underlying this worry though is the steady, happy drumbeat of “I’m going to see Dean & Sam, I’m going to see Dean & Sam.”

He had _missed_ them.

 

He calls Sam- for some reason he can’t bring himself to dial Dean’s number- as they park. Israfel & Raqib pull in just behind him. Suddenly, Dean is there striding toward him, a wide grin on his face and Castiel finds his feet propelled forward- he doesn’t quite know how it happens- one moment he’s slamming the door of the car, the next he’s being enveloped in Dean’s arms and he’s hugging him back. He feels Dean pull away after a moment, and thinks, _no, don’t go, stay_ , but of course, he can’t, he doesn’t, so Castiel drops his arms back to his side and tries to school his face, which he is sure must give away _everything_. Sam bounds up, claps him on the back, gives him a one-armed hug, mutters  “Thank god you’re here, if you’d been another ten minutes, I swear he’d have actually put an APB on you guys.” Castiel’s answering grin fades as he gets a chance to _look_ at Sam properly. “Sam, you..”  he starts, but Sam says softly, “Not now, _please_ , Cas”

There are introductions to be made, so he turns back toward Dean, who’s grinning at them both, happiness pouring out of him, warming Castiel inside out. But the open, happy look changes to shock when he turns to see Daphne, who’s got Abigail cradled against her hip, a tentative smile on her face.

“You remember Daphne, Dean” Castiel says carefully, thinking, _I should have told him before_. It hadn’t occurred to him, with everything that had been going on.

Dean seems to recover, a little, says. “Yeah, yeah. Daphne Allen? Er..nice..good to see you.” His gaze locks on Abigail, who’s turned an unblinking blue gaze on him, but makes no other noise. “And your..daughter” he adds, his voice going a little high on the last word. “This is Abigail.” Castiel says. Dean’s eyes look wounded for a moment and then Castiel sees the shutter drop. _What? Had he really made Dean so angry by not telling him whom he was bringing along?_

But Dean is not looking at him, he looks over Daphne’s shoulder at Peter, who’s been staring at the ground, scuffling his shoes. “That’s Peter Marks.” Castiel says quietly. “Zophiel and her lot were trying to abduct him.”

“Sucks doesn’t it? Dean says, stepping forward and stretching out a hand in welcome. “Finding out that angels are dicks, the hard way? Trust me, Sam & I know all about that.”

_It shouldn’t hurt, hearing him say that, but it does_.

But Castiel is beginning to feel the stirrings of anger too.

_If Dean hadn’t wanted to have them here, he should have just said so, and Castiel would have made sure he didn’t impose on the Winchesters._

Meanwhile Sam has moved toward Israfel & Raqib, who had hung behind, leaning against their car, carefully watching the little drama being played out.

“Hi, I’m Sam” he says, holding out his hand “You must be Raqib. Heard you landed a punch or two on Cas back there? You gotta tell me how you did that, he’s usually way too slippery for me!”

There are very few people on earth who can resist Sam Winchester’s smile and his sincerity, Castiel thinks, and Raqib isn’t one of them. He smiles up at Sam, a little shyly, and shakes his hand. “It’s easier when you’ve fought alongside for a while.”

“Yeah you have a few millennia of a head start on me, I’m guessing” Sam chuckles, and turns to Israfel.

“Hello Sam” she says, straightening up from where she’s been leaning against the car and Sam forgets himself for a moment to say “Christ, you’re tall” and then blushes at his gaffe.

“I am” she agrees, and her lips quirk a little.

“I..I guess I’ll help these guys with their luggage. Er, do you need help?”

“We’re good” Israfel says, and her lips quirk just a tiny bit more.

 

Peter was already taking the suitcases out of the boot, as Sam helped with some.

“So” says Dean, after greeting Israfel & Raqib- a quick handshake each, although his eyes widen when he takes in Israfel’s height and he looks like he’s going to make a comment, but then catches Sam’s eye and thinks the better of it.  “Welcome to the Batcave…er, yeah.”  He avoids looking more than fleetingly at either Castiel or Daphne as he leads the way in. Daphne is looking increasingly uncomfortable, so Castiel touches a hand to her elbow, and gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile.  She smiles back, and  Abigail murmurs something and snuggles her face into the crook of her shoulder. “Is she ok?” he asks softly. “Yes, I think so” she replies, and then they’re in the hall. Castiel hasn’t expected anything much to change- after all, he’s only been away a few weeks- but he’s strangely reassured to find that nothing has.  There’s the remnants of Sam & Dean’s lunch on the table- a half eaten sandwich- Sam’s, Castiel guesses, an empty bottle of beer that’s probably Dean’s. The lamp that Castiel had picked up from an antique shop in Vanguard, Oregon, stands to the corner of the sofa- another recent addition to the bunker. Standing here, it occurs to him in a way it hadn’t before, that they have- all three of them- slowly been making this space _theirs_.

Dean says “Are you guys hungry? I could make some sandwiches.”

It’s Israfel who answers, “Thanks, but no, we did grab a bite along the way.”

“What about..the kid?” Dean asks, “Although I don’t know if we have anything appropriate for her in the kitchen right now.”

“She’s fine for the moment” Daphne replies.

Castiel adds “I’ll go for a grocery run and pick up some stuff after you’re settled in.”

“I thought you guys needed to stay hidden” Dean scowls at him.

“It’s just a grocery run Dean, five minutes away.” Castiel tries hard to keep any bite out of his voice, but Dean’s entire posture and tone- _wrong, wrong, wrong_ \- is making it difficult.

“We’ve got some of the rooms set up below- er..but you’ll have to share..um, I don’t know how you want to do this?” Sam says, looking a little awkward. 

“Daphne and Abigail can have my room” says Castiel, quickly, and notices that Dean’s scowl deepens. “It’s larger than the others. Israfel..?”

“I’ll bunk with you, and Peter can share with Raqib” says Israfel, “If that’s ok with you, Peter.”

Peter, who’s been standing stiffly near the table, shrugs, and then perhaps realizing that a more vocal response may be needed says “That’s fine, thanks”.

“Ok, great” says Sam. Dean just shrugs. Sam leads the way while Israfel and the others follow with their bags.

“My room is this way” says Castiel and picks up Daphne’s bags.

 

 

 

It’s pretty bare, Castiel knows, and he finds himself wondering what Daphne thinks of it.

There’s a queen bed; Castiel notices that the sheets are fresh and neatly folded, as is his duvet.  _Dean_ , he thinks, and feels his irritation from earlier vanish. Sam’s never managed to fold the covers as neatly. Dean was looking forward to having him back, he _knows_ this. He should have told Dean more about whom he was bringing along. It was unfair on his part to have assumed Dean would be ok with _anyone_ he brought home. And just because Dean  & Sam treated him as one of their family, that didn’t mean that they should accept any other angel- or human- with equal trust, even if these strangers were _his_ friends. His thoughts are running away with him again, and Daphne is looking at him with a half smile on her face. “You’re glad to be back” she says, half questioning. “You could keep your room you know? Abigail and I could share with one of the others.”

“I don’t mind at all” he hastens to reassure her.

 “ This will be more comfortable for Abigail as well. Sam and Dean’s rooms are just down the hallway, by the way. I’ll be on the floor below.”

“Wow, this place doesn’t look that big from the outside, does it?”

“No” he chuckles, “The original architects took great pains to conceal its true dimensions.”

“How many rooms does it have?”

“With the dungeons included? Forty two. But we haven’t managed to make all of them livable yet.”

Daphne’s eyes widen.

“Yeah”

Abigail’s been wandering around the room touching everything that’s reachable- the single desk and chair, piles of books teetering from the floor up, the single door to the closet. She still hasn’t made a peep.

He wonders what she makes of it.

Squatting, he calls her name softly. She turns an inquiring face toward him. “Are you feeling ok?”

She nods.

“I’m sorry, it’s not as nice as your old room.”

She shrugs, an oddly adult gesture.

“Safe” she says.

“Yes” he sighs, “yes.”

“Peeta?”

“He’ll be with Raqib. Downstairs.”

She nods, and turns her attention to some of the books, apparently satisfied.

“I’ll leave you to settle in then- oh wait- could you make a list of things we’d need for Abigail? I’ll pick it up.”

“I’ll come with you,” she says, and Abigail seems interested in the prospect too.

He hesitates.

“It’ll be easier, trust me, to let her choose.” Daphne smiles. “I’ve learnt it the hard way.”

“No,” he says, regretfully, “It’s just not safe enough, Daphne, I’m sorry.”

Her smile disappears, and she bites her lip, a habit she has when she’s tense or unsure.

“Would you like some tea or coffee?”

“Castiel” Daphne reprimands lightly, “Stop fussing.”

He gives her a rueful smile. “Sorry”

 “How long do you think will it take your friend to find us a safe house?”

“I’m not sure” he admits, “it may take a couple of weeks. And we need to be sure that you _will_ be safe.”

She nods, then perches on the bed with a sigh.

“Well, at least I know how I’m going to spend my time” she says, gesturing at the books.

“They aren’t..”

“Regular books?” she asks with a smile “I know that. I..I was hoping to find out more…about people like me..my family. I’ve never had the access to any information..didn’t even know where to look, really. This really does seem…well, like divine chance.”

When he looks doubtful, she insists “I have..a gift, Castiel, and now I want to learn how to _use_ it…I might _need_ to learn how to use it, to protect us. We can’t always depend..expect someone to help us.”

He tries not to feel hurt at the implication, wants to say “You can depend on _me_ ”, but there is more than a little truth in what she is saying.

“I’ll talk to Sam, he knows the information we have even better than I do.”

“I have to admit he doesn’t really look the researcher kind” she chuckles.

He smiles, because it’s true. “You’d be surprised by a lot of things about him” he says, and he knows his voice is fond. Their talk also reminds him about his earlier hurried conversation with Sam, a worry that had gotten pushed to the back of his mind for the moment, but now comes rushing back. He needs to talk to Sam as soon as he can.

Daphne is saying “Dean, though- he looks almost exactly like I remembered him.”

Castiel feels distinctly uncomfortable. “I..I’m sorry, he was a little abrupt, with you, earlier. I don’t..I didn’t tell him whom I was bringing along. It came as a surprise.”

“And not a very welcome one” she adds, wryly.

“Dean can be gruff, but his heart is in the right place.” Castiel finds himself defending him.

Daphne’s smile is a little mischievous, almost. “I’m sure you know.”

He feels himself flushing, for some reason, and her smile turns into a full blown laugh.

“I..” he starts, then “It’s not like that” he ends, lamely.

“Isn’t it?” she stops laughing then, and reaches out for his hand, gentle as ever. “Then perhaps it should be. What are you waiting for?”

_Dean_ , he thinks, _I’m waiting for Dean, as I always have_.

What he says is, “It’s complicated.”

He doesn’t say _I can’t risk his friendship,_ and worse, _I don’t deserve it_ , although both are true.

Her face is all serious, and she tugs at his hand to pull him down next to her.

“I like poetry” she says, apropos of nothing.

“I remember” he says.

“Poets always tell the truth”

He frowns. “Not quite. Homer, for example…”

She nudges him in the ribs.

“You know what I mean.”

He keeps frowning, but concedes the point.

“Well, then, remember this: _part of our responsibility belongs to joy_.”

“I think you may be quoting that out of context.”

She chuckles, a low, warm sound.

“Perhaps,” she replies, “doesn’t make it less true.”

 

 

Israfel is lying down on one of the two cots in the room when enters. He dumps the stuff he’s got from his room- some more clothes, a few books onto the second bed. She studies him, for a moment, says “Need some help?”

He notices that her bag is unpacked, just dumped on the sole chair in the room.

“No, I’ll move the rest of the books back to the library later.”

“This place seems quite extraordinary” she says

“It is” he agrees, “Do you want a tour now? Some coffee? Tea? Something stronger?”

She laughs, a low sound.

“You’re frighteningly domestic, sometimes”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She turns toward him, finally, propping herself up on an elbow.

“You need to summon Sariel.”

He knows.

He doesn’t want to do it, because if she doesn’t answer, then he doesn’t want to think of what that could mean.

Israfel sighs.

“She could be alright. If there was anybody capable of getting out of that alive, it’s her.”

There’s a knock on the door.

“There are sandwiches in the kitchen” a voice calls.

It’s Sam.

Castiel opens the door and finds Sam grinning. “He’s on a roll. Just shut up and eat.”

He pokes his head in, and smiles at Israfel, “If it helps, Cas & I can certify that they’re usually pretty great”.

Israfel swings off the bed with her customary grace, and murmurs “Apparently it’s contagious.”

At Castiel’s puzzled look, she adds with a grin “Domesticity”

He shoots what he _hopes_ is a repressive glare at her, and says “I’ll fetch the others.”

 

He enters Raqib’s room in response to a soft “come in” and finds that Peter is curled up on a bed, facing the wall, while Raqib is putting away some clothes in the single cupboard.

“Asleep?” he mouths at Raqib.

Raqib shrugs, as though to say “Perhaps.”

Perching gingerly on the bed, Castiel calls softly, “Peter?”

Not a twitch.

He chances placing a hand on a bony shoulder.

Peter twitches, but then curls into himself even more.

Castiel looks at Raqib, who shrugs again.

“Dean’s making us sandwiches. Come along..we..need to talk anyway.”

 

They wind their way through the dimly lit, narrow hallway, and up an even narrower flight of stairs. Although they’d installed brighter lights and Dean had even tried to make it more cheerful by repainting the walls in lighter shades-pale yellow and blue- they couldn’t quite get rid of the claustrophobic atmosphere of the lower rooms.  Well, at least, in their defense of the constructors, Castiel had rarely seen a human shelter so well fortified against the supernatural. Sigils and runes were scratched and embedded onto almost every surface, most of them surprisingly accurate.

“The kitchen is through here, second door to the left” he tells Raqib when they reach the landing,  “I’ll fetch Daphne.”

He finds her already reading a book, brow furrowed in concentration. Abigail is happily playing with her Lego set, pieces of which have already scattered themselves all across the floor.

She looks up when he enters, and smiles at his look of surprise. “I couldn’t resist” she says, “ The Complete and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter” – except that it’s _actually_ looks like it’s from the seventeenth century.”

“It is” he replies, puzzled. “Why?”

She gapes.

“Are you telling me that Pratchett and Gaiman were _channeling_ or something?”

“Who?”

“They’re authors- in this century- who wrote an immensely successful fantasy novel “Good Omens”..involving, if you can believe it, the prophecies of one Agnes Nutter. It’s hilarious. About a demon named Crowley and an angel named Aziraphale stopping the Apocalypse”

“Ah” he says, nonplussed. “Well, the real Agnes Nutter was a particularly gifted Seer, though I don’t think any of her prophecies included the Apocalypse. Well, of course, she wasn’t a Prophet of the Lord, and the visions of the End Times were..how do I put it? Classified information?”

She grins. “I can see that hanging out with you is going to substantially widen my world view”

He smiles back, and it crosses his mind again, how _easy_ things are with her, how easy they’ve _always_ been, even when it should have been impossible.

“There are sandwiches in the kitchen” he says

“Um, not really hungry?”

“Er..I’m afraid that’s not quite going to matter”

She chuckles, but says, “I guess we all do need to sit down together, anyways”

“Abby, come along now” she adds.

“Popcorn?” asks Abigail, hopefully.

It’s Castiel’s turn to chuckle as he kneels and stretches out his hands to her. She comes willingly, and he feels a small thrill shoot through him. “There’s usually some in the house, so yes…um, that is?”

Daphne nods, and Abigail makes a small, happy sound as she rests her head on his shoulder.

 

 

The others are sitting around the long table, already tucking into their sandwiches. Sam has apparently been telling Israfel & Raqib about the Men of Letters; Castiel smiles inwardly at the pride in his voice. Looking over at Sam however, and seeing his aura, brings back the worry from earlier, but he refrains from commenting. Whatever is going on with Sam, he clearly hasn’t shared it with Dean yet, and Castiel will respect Sam’s choice- for the moment. Dean who’s been apparently quietly munching on his own sandwich turns around as they enter, his eyes darting over them before turning back to his plate. He waves a hand toward the table where there are a couple of sandwiches kept. “I hope you aren’t vegan” he says aloud, as though to no one in particular.

“No” replies Daphne, “a BLT is good, thanks” as she pulls a seat next to Raqib.  Away from Dean.

Castiel, meanwhile, is searching for popcorn.

“What’re you looking for Cas?” asks Dean, a hint of irritation in his voice.

“Popcorn” he says, distractedly, “Abigail’s been promised some since the early hours today, and it’s only fair that we keep that promise.”

“There’s a bag in the third shelf, Cas” Sam calls out, “At least there was, two days ago.”

Abigail tugs at his sleeve to let him know she wants to be set down to explore on her own.

“Don’t try to pull anything too heavy for you” he warns, and drops a kiss on her head as she scrunches her nose at him. As he puts her down, he catches Dean’s eye- he has that same wounded look from before, for a moment, but he turns away quickly, before Castiel can decode it.

He keeps an anxious eye on Abigail while the bag is popping in the microwave-one of the many “upgrades” Dean has made to the kitchen- and is tempted to just pick her up and insist that she sit still at the table, but when he looks at Daphne, she just smiles and shakes her head slightly.  Abigail is tottering around on her toes, apparently familiarizing herself with everything by touch- whatever she can reach that is. She runs her hand over the wood paneled shelving beneath the kitchen counter, and makes her way toward the long table. She touches the back of the chair that Sam is seated at, and then his shin. He breaks off mid sentence to reach down an arm to her but she only stares at him with her eyes going wider and then backs away. Sam looks uncertainly at Daphne, who says “She’s not really used to being around people, it’ll take a while” but Castiel wonders whether Abigail can see, like him, the sickness that radiates from Sam. The worry from earlier becomes sharper again, a knot in his stomach.

 

She makes her way around the table, toward the side where Dean is polishing his sandwich with a gulp of beer. She stops behind his chair, making him twist around to see her, “What’re you doing, chipmunk?” he rumbles at her, and Castiel feels some relief that his expression is softer, even if Dean’s not precisely _smiling_.  Abigail just stares at him, but takes her hands off the chair, tucking them behind her. When he moves sideways in his chair to hold out a hand to her, she just tilts her head and considers it for a moment before putting some more distance between them. Dean raises an eyebrow and says “Alright then,” with what may be a semi-rueful shrug and turns to take another gulp from the bottle. 

Castiel empties some of the popcorn into a small bowl- the smallest he can find- and calls to her, but she ignores him in favour of wandering into the living room space they’ve carved out in the big hall.  The second hand-but comfortable- couch and the mismatched chairs clash with the elegance of the bunker, but Castiel likes it nonetheless.  It makes him happy to see Sam & Dean building a home, when all that they’d had for a majority of their lives was an endless sense of _temporary_. Abigail’s discovered the couch _and_ the remote and loses no time in switching on the (second hand, but serviceable) flat screen TV. To Castiel’s amusement, she flips channels until she comes to Discovery and then she watches, avid eyed as a cheetah streaks through the African savannah, a blur of movement. She barely spares him a glance when he plops next to her, holding out the popcorn. Her hand steals into the popcorn bowl, while her eyes remain on the screen where the cheetah has managed to execute a bloody kill. “I’m not sure this is what you should be watching” Castiel murmurs. She turns a fierce glare on him at that, which , perversely, makes him feel inordinately proud. She punctuates her displeasure by throwing some corn at him, which earns a warning “Abby..” from Daphne, who’s craning her neck to see what her charge is upto. He chuckles, picking it off his shirt, and popping them into his mouth, which makes her scowl, but then she turns back to the TV, clearly determined to ignore him.

When he returns to the table, Daphne says “Trust me, the discipline is hard won, you don’t want to indulge her too much.” But the words are softened by her smile, so he might just ignore them altogether and indulge Abigail as much as possible. He knows she’s his fierce (and loving) sibling, but somehow, her current body allows him to forget- most of the time- the first part. Perhaps- he _is_ reacting in more _human_ ways than before.

He chooses to sit beside Dean- _his usual place-_ but Dean doesn’t spare more than a cursory glance at him. Castiel sighs inwardly. Dean is in one of his _snits_ , it’ll take time and more patience than Castiel had _even known_ he’d had before he’d met Dean.

 

There’s a moment of awkward silence. Sam seems to straighten up, slightly, while Israfel and Raqib watch, with a stillness that Castiel knows is peculiarly _theirs_ \- as before. Daphne looks like she might say something but settles for a bite of her sandwich instead.

He takes a gulp of his beer, feels the damp of the cold bottle sheen his palm.

“So” says Dean. “Wanna catch us up?”

Castiel shares a look with Sam, but says, peaceably enough, “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time, not like, oh I don’t know, some random dick angels on the loose fucking things up, right?”

Israfel becomes even _more_ still, if that was possible.

“Are we in any immediate danger, Cas?” asks Sam, hurriedly.

“I don’t think they’d be able to get through the protection here” he replies, “but it won’t be for lack of trying. I-we- don’t know exactly what has happened to Zophiel after our last..confrontation.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?” mutters Dean.

Castiel shrugs. “She sent a couple of angels to kidnap Peter Marks- he seems to be able to hear angels, by the way. It’s possible he was meant to be Abigail’s vessel.”

“Really?” Sam’s tone is part fascination, part worry.  “Like..how..you mean bloodline?”

“Something like that, I think.”

“They do seem to share a very strong bond.” Says Daphne, softly. “She was frantic when she thought he was hurt.”

“Wait…” Dean sounds thunderstruck, “Abigail isn’t..a baby?”

Castiel frowns at him, “Well, of course she is, Dean, you can see that.”

“I mean, _human_ baby” he rounds on Daphne, “I thought she was your daughter!”

There’s a moment of startled silence.

“She is” Daphne’s chin is tilted in defiance, her voice quiet, but firm. “As far as I’m concerned.”

“She’s not… _your_ daughter.” he repeats, softer.

“It makes no difference to me” says Daphne, and there’s a hint of steel now, in her voice.

Dean flushes. “No, I..didn’t mean..no of course not.”

Castiel looks at Sam, wondering if he had a clue what Dean was _on_ about. Surely, it wasn’t _that_ difficult a concept to grasp, given that Dean had shared his _home_ with an angel in a human form, and there had been Anna, whom Dean had _had intercourse_ with so…but Sam’s eyes are amused, and he seems to be having difficulty holding back a laugh.

“She looks a bit like _you_ , Cas” he offers, “D..I..we thought she might be..she seemed the right age. ”

Castiel is flabbergasted, and he hears Daphne make a choking sound.

He thinks back to everything he’d told Dean over the phone, and since they’d arrived. Of _course_ , he thinks, slightly dazed, _he’d never told them that Abigail was an angel_. _And she hadn’t exhibited any particularly extraordinary behaviour since her arrival_.

Dean scrapes back his chair and hauls himself toward the kitchen. “Anybody want another beer?” he asks, his voice casual, _too casual_.

“I’d have told you,” Castiel manages, “if..if I’d had a child.”

He looks at Israfel, who raises an eyebrow and shrugs.

“I guess we forgot to _properly_ introduce ourselves” quips Raqib. “Everybody at this table who’s always been human raise their hands”.

Daphne raises a hand.

She’s the only one.

They all stare at Sam.

“I think..I might have lapsed, once” he tries to joke.

Castiel wants to reach across the table and wrap his arms around Sam, but he thinks it might not be appreciated. Sam is better at expressing affection than Dean is, but they’re both equally likely to retreat into a shell when pushed.

So he launches into the story of how they wound up in Colorado. Dean comes back with two beers, one of which he puts in front of Sam, and when he takes his seat, Castiel thinks _maybe_ Dean is a little more relaxed now.

Finally, there’s silence at the table. It’s unbroken until Daphne- who’d got up midway to check on Abbie- brings her back to the table. The popcorn bowl is empty save for a few kernels. “I tried to clean up as best I could” she says rueful, “but you might find some bits squashed between the cushions.”

“Don’t worry about it” says Sam, as Daphne sits down with Abigail in her lap.

“So we..” starts Dean

“We need to summon Sariel” says Israfel, “if only to find out whether she’s alive.”

“Will the ritual we tried on you work?” asks Dean, turning his head to look at Castiel.

For a minute, Castiel is thrown back in time, to an old barn.

“It wouldn’t have worked if I hadn’t wanted to appear” he replies, and allows himself a small smirk at the look of outrage on Dean’s face. “It was a rather- interesting-mix of rituals that you did there”

“Well, it wasn’t like we had a manual or even knew what we were looking for!” he mutters.

“I guess I surprised you, then” Castiel can’t help the smile that is finding it’s way to his lips and feels warm all over at the way Dean’s eyes soften, and his lip quirks, in turn, when he says “I guess you did”.

Castiel doesn’t ever want to take his eyes off Dean.

 

Raqib clears his throat.

“There’s a ritual to summon an angel if you know their true name”

Castiel nods in agreement, “It’s powerful, very few of us would have been able to resist it, even before.”

“Is it safe?” asks Daphne, and when they all look at her, she mumbles, “Sorry, stupid question.”

“Should we do it here? In the bunker?” asks Sam.

Israfel says, “It’d be safer, in one way, certainly, but that doesn’t mean that this place will escape damage, if..if Sariel is unhappy at being summoned.”

“But it’s safer than outside, where we might be attacked by Zophiel’s lot..” concludes Dean, echoing Castiel’s thoughts. However, Castiel doesn’t want anything to happen to the bunker- he can’t risk Sam & Dean’s _home,_ not after everything.

“We should do it away from here” he says aloud. “Perhaps near that abandoned landfill ten miles out?”

“Don’t be fucking stupid, Cas” says Dean, immediately. “That would be too risky”

“It won’t be, if we’re careful enough. Israfel, Raqib and I will perform the ritual. The both of you can stay back here to make sure that Peter, Abbie and Daphne are safe.”

“You think we’re going to send you out there alone?” growls Dean. “I’m coming with you, Cas. Sam can stay here with the others, just in case. This place is the Death Star anyways.”

“Not the most fortuitous of comparisons” he murmurs in reply, raising an eyebrow.

Dean opens his mouth to snap back and then shuts it, a gleam of amusement in his eyes now.

“Sariel may not want to talk with us, Dean,” Sam offers, earning a glare from his brother, “and I agree we shouldn’t try it here. But Cas, let Dean come along, he can…I don’t know..skulk somewhere around, just in case. Things get shirty.”

“When do they not?” mutters Dean, and then louder, “It’s settled Cas. I’m coming along.”

Castiel looks at Israfel & Raqib, who’ve been silent through the argument.

“It might be good to have back up” Raqib agrees and Israfel gives a small nod.

 

“Fine” he says, forced to concede, though every protective instinct in him rebels at the idea.

“When?” asks Israfel, already impatient.

“Let’s scope out the place first” replies Castiel, “maybe there are ways we can ward it, even if it’s out in the open.  Israfel, Sam, I think there might be some useful information in the library, I have some sigils in mind that we could probably tinker with, lets spend some time on that. Between the three of us I think we should be able to figure it out faster.  Raqib, I think you could prepare the things we need for the summoning ritual.”

He turns toward Dean, whose expression he can’t decode- “Do you think we could check the place out now?”

“Let’s go” Dean vouchsafes, already heading toward the door.

“I’ll help Raqib then..” says Daphne, tentative.

“Sure thing” says Raqib, easily, “although we’d better find some gloves first.”

There’s a scraping of chairs and a movement toward the kitchen to dump their plates.

They’re almost at the door when Cas remembers something. “Hold on” he mutters, heading back.

 

Dean’s already started up the car, “What took you so long?” he asks, checking him over. “You don’t look any noticeably prettier” and guffaws at Castiel’s scowl.

“Shopping list” he replies, primly. “We need to pick up some baby supplies.”

Dean groans. “Jeez, I haven’t done this..since that shapeshifter kid, you remember that one?”

A beat.

“No, of course you don’t, you weren’t around much that year.”

“Tell me anyway” he says, greedy, as always, for every little scrap, even though he knows there’s nothing he can undo.

The tale takes them all the way to the local superstore and through to the aisles marked “Baby food”.

Castiel blinks in shock.

He’s had time to get used to the sheer number of choices a person looking for a slab of _butter_ needs to make, but this is even worse. Fumbling in his pocket for Daphne’s list, he notes with relief that she’s even specified the brand of product. This makes it relatively simpler, except that they can’t find some things on the list. Castiel fishes out his phone to call Daphne, but Dean waves him away, saying “I got this.”

“How do you know?” he asks, genuinely surprised.

Dean shrugs. “Sammy, y’know, mostly. It stays with you. Most of the stuff that is.”

“And who knows, maybe, someday..”

“Do you want children, Dean?” Castiel asks, genuinely surprised.

Dean flushes a little.

“I think about it, sometimes, y’know? I like kids. I always have. It’s just..never..”

He shrugs.

“Maybe it’s my biological clock ticking” he says, with a half smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You could still have it” Castiel says.

“Nah, Cas..I’m good. You know I am. This life…I can’t switch it off. I’ve learned that. And I don’t want to bring up a child the way Sammy and I were brought up.”

“It doesn’t have to be the same” Castiel says, “you have a _home_ now.”

Dean looks strangely at him. “Yes” he agrees quietly, but then turns away almost immediately to pick up a pack of diapers.

_Am I wrong?_  He questions himself as he follows Dean around with a shopping cart, having relinquished the list into much more capable hands. _He could find it again, someone like Lisa. It could work. If she knew about the hunting but didn’t let it scare her away._

He ignores the pang in the region of his chest at the thought of Dean having a family that didn’t include him. This isn’t about _him_ , it’s about _Dean_ , and what _Dean_ needs. Dean has _so much_ love to give.  He’d never thought, until now, that Dean may still harbor that old dream of his. He’d thought that it had been washed away in deluge of the life that the brothers had lead even after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t. A deluge to which he himself, had contributed more than his fair share. He’d watched Dean carve out a space for himself and Sam, embrace the legacy of the Men of Letters, form relationships with other people, and he’d thought, truly been _convinced_ , that Dean was _content_.

It occurs to him that this isn’t the first time that he’d been unable to read Dean’s feelings accurately.

Neither is it likely to be the last.

He’s called out of his reverie by Dean snapping his fingers “Yo. Earth to Castiel.”

“Sorry” he mumbles. “I was just..thinking.”

“Well do you know whether she likes cereal?”

 “Froot Loops” says Castiel, pleased that this is one thing he _is_ certain of.

Dean chuckles, “Why am I not surprised?”

“Is this a popular with children?”

“With lots of adults too, buddy. Betcha Sam’s gonna go crazy when he sees this.”

Dean regales him with stories of Sam’s love affair with fruity cereal, as they check out and get back in the car.

 

Stopping briefly at the bunker to drop things off, they head out toward the landfill on the outskirts of the town.  The Impala scrunches over the gravel and broken glass that litters the tire worn path that’s been flattened out over the years, its headlights piercing the thickening dark. Castiel wishes he’d put on another t-shirt beneath his shirt; the warmth of the bunker was misleading. Dean doesn’t seem bothered by the chill as they step out. He’s been quiet on the drive here. Castiel doesn’t mind the silence.

These days, it’s not the tension filled silences from _before,_ although at the moment, Castiel isn’t sure that this one is _entirely_ tension free.

_Perhaps it was the earlier conversation at the shop._

_Dean hadn’t seemed angry._

_Was he?_

 

 

It’s not so much a landfill, as a circular crater for used cars- or parts of them- broken home appliances and the occasional lone sneaker.  It’s hard to make out much in the dark now, but Castiel knows that across the expanse on the other side, is a small wood; the lank silhouettes of the trees stand mournful against the cloudy sky. Dean pulls a torch out of his pocket, and Castiel follows the weaving light, carefully avoiding the sharper looking parts of the debris all around.

“There was some kind of shack here, right?” Dean asks, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness.

“Three hundred and five metres to our left, I think”

Dean chuckles, but waves his torch that way and only replies “Yeah I think I see it. C’mon. Careful where you put your feet.”

Castiel doesn’t know why Dean seems to find these things amusing, but he’s accepted that he does. _Why is precision amusing? Surely it’s better to know the_ -

Dean stumbles a little, curses softly, kicks something out of the way.

He hears it roll down and land with a clunk somewhere below.

 

The shack- a rotting wooden structure -isn’t much. Dean pushes at the door and yelps when the entire thing collapses backward sending up a cloud of dust that makes them both cough and step back.

“Well, that’s peachy” wheezes Dean. “Looks like the perfect place for a secret rendezvous with a potentially homicidal angel”

Castiel grabs the torch from his hand “ If she’d wanted to harm us, she would have done it before. Besides she-“ He cuts off as he steps into the shack, trying to get his bearings in the torchlight.

There isn’t much to see. Castiel has no idea what the original purpose of this place could have been. It doesn’t look like it was ever a residence of any kind- just a bare rectangular room. No shelves, no furniture- rotting or otherwise. There are two small windows on either side, midway down the length of the room; looking upward he can see that half the roof seems to have been blown off at some point.

Clearly not ideal, but it will have to do. At least there are some walls to draw sigils on.

He turns back to Dean, who shrugs. Castiel can’t quite see his expression, but he imagines that it’s not pleased.

“Not the best, I agree” Castiel says.

Dean snorts, but only says, “Let’s check around the back.”

They skirt around the shack. At the back there is what looks like the remnants of a vegetable garden; the whole place becomes infinitely more mysterious in Castiel’s eyes; but Dean doesn’t seem to care much.

“Doesn’t look like there’s much place around here to hide, Cas” he says, “Guess  I’m gonna have to sit in on your top-secret meeting.”

Castiel bites his lip.

He knows it’d be futile to get into another argument about Dean staying back, so he says, “Let’s check it out again tomorrow. Maybe daylight will reveal something.”

“Ain’t got the time Cas, and you know it.”

He claps a hand to Castiel’s shoulder and gives it a small squeeze.

“Let’s go, I’m hungry.”

“You” he replies “don’t have a stomach, it’s an abyss.”

“Says the man who refuses to share kung-pao. No seriously what was it that time, like, a month of nothing but Chinese?”

“Don’t remind me.” says Castiel, feeling a little green around the gills at the memory. “Also that was just the once.”

 

 

They stop over to pick up some pizza- they don’t really have people delivering food to the bunker- _like Dean had said, what address are we going to give, “Winchesters, Under-the-Hill”?_   While they wait for their order, Dean orders a beer, while Cas declines any refreshment. Perversely, Dean’s mood seems to have improved after their visit- perhaps the thought of putting himself in imminent danger would never cease to be a thrill for him.  Castiel has had a hard time accepting this, when every instinct in him, cried out _“save”, “protect”, “keep safe”_ when it came to Dean and Sam.  He knows that Dean reacts similarly when it comes to Sam and everyone he cares about- so it’s something that they’ve each had to learn to deal with.  But they’ve learnt so-

 

“It’s not impossible, Dean” he says

“Huh, what?” asks Dean and “Jeez, were you even listening to what I was saying?”

“Something about anchovies being the spawn of Satan. They are not.” he replies.

“What’s not impossible then?”

“A home…children..if you wanted it. You already have a part of that.”

Dean sets the bottle down with a thump.

“Unbelievable” he mutters. “You’re just friggin’ unbelievable, Cas.”

“It seems to have escaped your notice, “ he persists, “But you and Sam are not leading the solitary lives you once led.  You have _friends_. You have a place you call _home_. It’s not such a stretch to imagine that-“

“Shut up, Cas. Just..shut up.”

Castiel looks at Dean’s stormy face and knows that he should let it go.

He has never less felt like _letting it go_.

“Why are you so afraid?” he asks, holding his gaze.

There’s a heavy pause in which Castiel thinks that Dean may actually _hit_ him.

“You think you know so much about me, Cas” he grits out at last, “why don’t you tell me?”

“You’re afraid because you think you would put them in danger, like Lisa & Ben.” he says quietly. “You think that one day they’d want to leave.”

Dean takes a shaky breath.

“You tellin’ me I’m wrong about that?”

“That’s not just the _hunter’s_ life, Dean, that’s just _life_. We could get killed crossing the road ..because..because some kid had his hands on his phone instead of on the wheel!”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What?”

“ _Everyone_ leaves, Cas. Everyone…”

He doesn’t continue, but Castiel hears the silent _leaves me_.

Dean sees the moment he gets it, and his lips twist.

That’s not true, he wants to say, they don’t leave _you_.

“Don’t say it” Dean says, and apparently Castiel is transparent, sometimes.

He adds, “I tidied up your room last night.”

It’s such a non-sequitur that all he can do for a moment is stare at Dean in confusion.

“I noticed” he manages to respond “You always get the corners perfect.”

That draws a half-smile from Dean.

He takes a breath and continues.

“Yeah..yeah. You…there was nothing of _you_ , there, Cas.”

“What do you mean, Dean? Most of my things are there. Granted, I don’t own much but…”

“Yeah, maybe, that’s it, that’s it, _exactly_.”

“I don’t own much?”

Dean waves his hand around, an uncharacteristic gesture.

“That’s what people do, Cas. Start acquiring shit. Put up pictures. Build a _home_.”

Castiel feels like the breath has been punched out of him.

“Shit, even Sam’s room looks like someone _lives_ there.”

“Forgive me if I don’t have pictures of my parents and childhood treasures to _personalize_ my room with” he bites back, unable to stop himself, “forgive me for not having a history that can be _fitted_ into an eight by ten, _Dean_.”

_How did this conversation get here?_

Castiel can’t even process all that he’s feeling right now.

“That’s not what I mean, Cas!” Dean looks a little stricken.

“Then explain what you mean!”

Dean’s eyes flash at him. “If you don’t get it, I don’t _want_ to explain it, Cas.”

Their order gets called and Dean practically shoots out of his seat toward the counter.

Castiel follows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special note for Anon w/o the internet: I don't know when you'll read this, but I hope that whenever you do, you'll enjoy it. :)
> 
> Next update *will * probably happen in mid-November. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's still sticking around! 
> 
> ps. if you want to look me up on tumblr, I'm drivingsideways33.


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